


After the Bloom

by Dark_Crystal_Demon



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Mobtale (Undertale), Alternate Universe - Underfell (Undertale), Attempted Rape/Non-Con, Blood and Gore, Consensual Sex, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Smut, Reader is a Dance Hall Girl, Torture, Underfell Grillby (Undertale), Underfell Muffet, Underfell Papyrus (Undertale), Underfell Sans (Undertale), Underfell W. D. Gaster, Violence, mafiatale
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-13
Updated: 2019-05-10
Packaged: 2019-11-16 10:24:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 25,296
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18092543
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dark_Crystal_Demon/pseuds/Dark_Crystal_Demon
Summary: This is a cautionary tale about giving one's heart away to a mobster/monster who is stuck in a life of violence.





	1. Bud

**Author's Note:**

  * For [placeholder000](https://archiveofourown.org/users/placeholder000/gifts).



> I give full credit for the premise of this story to plsdontkinkshame (Tumblr), also known as Asimplesmutpeddler (Twitter), who is an amazing artist and an inspirational, beautiful person. She wanted a story about a dance hall girl and a mobster in a plot arch I couldn't say no to. I hope you enjoy this bittersweet tale from the Mafia, Underfell Universe.

The Don's birthday is always full of subtle extravagance. He decorates his mansion with echo flowers from the caves of their former home. It's a simple flower. Any monster can get them, but he prefers to pay top dollar from a human florist. He would say it's " **b** **ecause that human employs a monster to retrieve them**." That is how he makes all his purchase choices from his entertainment to his food, and he expects the same from his entire family or any guest who enters his home. Every fedora, every suit jacket, and even the handkerchief in your pocket must be monster-made. And if they aren't... and if he notices...well,

**Y o u   a r e   g o i n g   t o   h a v e   a   b a d   t i m e.**

Red respects his boss for the loyalty he shows to his own kind, but it also comes with a certain disdain for the other species that dominates this planet: humans. To the Don, they are nothing but tools used to elevate monsterkind to their proper place as masters. He demonstrates this belief by only allowing the businesses employed for his party to send human workers, who he will then give the incorrect time to set-up.

This is the reason that Red is standing in a half-decorated foyer of his boss's mansion as guests begin to arrive. It's a sight that pleases many of the conservative monsters: well-dressed and groomed beasts surrounded by harried humans, scurrying to complete their tasks that they were given an impossibly short time to accomplish. The monster band is waiting for the stage to finish being installed. The caterers are in the middle of dressing the tables while the guests take their seats. Red avoids collision with a running kitchen boy. He grabs a meaty hors d'oeuvre from a tray left precariously on the railing of the grand staircase. The Don's butler looks at Red with pleading eyes, but he can only shrug and pity the butler, grinding his teeth behind a well-practiced fake smile as more guests enter through the foyer. They both knew, this is exactly how the Don liked to start every party.

 **"I like to watch them run** ," the Don will say, knowing these humans will never blame him _._ Instead, their bosses will spend much of the evening groveling and discounting their services. The Don will complain about the incompetence of humans, and demand more satisfaction for their mistakes as the night wears on. Each demand will be cruder than the last, always testing the boundaries of how far human businessmen will go to please him.

Personally, Red has never been a huge fan of the display in humiliation. It intimidates the few human guests present and emboldens poor behavior from his monster kin. By the end of the night, the humans will hurry away in fear. If they don't, they're sure to face inappropriate or deadly encounters. For Red, this primal cat-and-mouse routine only reminds him of the life they were supposed to have left behind when they escaped the underground. But old habits die hard. Still, it leaves a bad taste in his mouth, and he spits on the ground when he thinks of this continued conflict with the humans. Then he rubs the soggy spot of carpet under his shoe to remind himself that he needs to keep his thoughts to himself. The Don is a much more ancient monster, who remembers the war with humans. He dedicated so much his life to their return to the surface that he became Death itself. And when their kind finally escaped the darkness, the Dob took the power he needed...

... And Red had helped him. When the Don rose from the untraceable assassinations of prominent humans in trade and political positions, his sons rose with him. Though Red had long ago stopped thinking of the Don as a father, he didn't have the power to fight against him. So Red waits for an opportunity. He handles intel and media silence while his little brother is in charge of trapping their father's prey. Together, they have become an unstoppable force: the skeleton mafia with "family" branches rooted in most of the other monster races. Even the Royal Monster Family, kid in toe, owes favors to the Don. Red can see them arriving now. The Captain of the Royal Guard is talking to his brother, Edge, about security. She isn't discussing protection; they're just catching up. There is little concern of attack when most of the guests are trained killers. It has been a long time since humans or disgruntled, unaffiliated monsters tried to crash the Don's parties. His boss fears no one.

Red doesn't even know if the Don can die.

Trying to avoid that train of thought, Red waves to the Royal Scientist. She waves back, but that's the extent of their interaction. It has been a long time since they worked together. He never thought he'd miss those days in the lab. His father was in her position back then, but the experiments went too far. They sucked his father into Hell and when he returned, he was not the same.

" **Happy Birthday to me** ," the Don appears at Red's side as if summoned by his thoughts. The boss monster brushes lint from the sleeve of his pin-striped suit, but it is all for show. Not even dust will touch his dark aura. His presence sucks the temperature in the room to Hell and brings an inescapable chill to Red's bones.

The Don's hollow eyes look for unwanted ears or ill-placed echo flowers before he speaks. " **Is the police commissioner coming?** "

"back door at nine," Red nods and tenses when the Don places a white, gloved hand on his shoulder. His bones involuntarily rattle with recognition of kin. Through his touch, their magics mix for a second, but it's enough to send Red's mind spiraling into darkness as each fragmented section of the Don's skeletal hand clenches around his shoulder bone.

" **You always bring me the best gifts, son** ," the Don grins. Black tendrils, darker than night, play around his crooked jaw.

"anything for you," Red says as his leg bones start to shake. He leans against the railing of the staircase for support, but the Don tightens his grip until Red finishes his sentence, "...father."

Satisfied with Red's reluctant but eventual response, the Don releases him and disappears into the shadows. He reappears in the shade of the King. With the Don's attention elsewhere, Red takes a long breath. Warmth slowly returns to his bones. He smooths away the wrinkles on his suit and tips his hat in front of his eye sockets to hide the shaken look that is sure to still be on his face.

He silently wishes the police commissioner luck at her meeting later tonight. Before they met, she was a straight shooter, but even she knew the limits of her badge when faced with the Devil. Red hopes she remembers to hold her tongue. She is one of his most valuable contacts in his network. And despite his distaste for his father's trade, Red enjoys the aspect of his job that allows him to interact with humans. Some were trustworthy, and others were no longer alive to be otherwise. He tells himself that was their choice since he did have a preference for positive relations...

...and peace. He would really like to find peace. When does violence end in that? When can he just relax on a couch and watch TV without having to change the channel to the news? When can he walk in a bar without an agenda? Or have a conversation without trading goods and services?

When do the nightmares end?

He lives in hope that there is an answer to the last question, but he knows he won't find it here. Under the influence of the Don, there is no light. He needs to run, but his brother is too loyal to their father to follow Red. The Don knows this and uses that fact to his advantage. Father or not, he'll hurt one son to keep them both in line. Red can't leave Edge to that fate. He's trapped in the bidding of madman who tempers his bloodlust with passive aggressive scheduling errors or occasional outings into alleyways that Red has to cover up later.

He prefers the parties. What he finds left in the alleyways...

 _Pieces_.

 _So many pieces..._  the images spiral into a bloody whirlpool of depression.Sans closes his eye sockets, but his thoughts are drowning in...  _Coagulated puddles that can't be avoided..._ This life is an illness, an inevitable contagion, that sinks into the darkness his boss thrives within.  _He always leaves his victim's eyes open..._  Red pounds the side of his skull until he numbs the ache in his soul with the pain. He straightens up and finds himself alone. Other monsters have given him a wide girth, but none will meet his gaze. That's fine. He wasn't looking for comfort. He's not looking for anything. In his depression, the room looks devoid of color. It's like a dark veil covers his eyes, and all he can focus on are the dim souls of frightened, stressed humans rushing around the house except... 

... except you...

You...?

Who are you?

Your soul burns color back into his world and you're...  _dancing_?

You're not on the dance floor. No. You're not a guest. You're arranging the flowers on the dinner tables. Your hips are shaking to the small warm up tunes of the band, but when their music abruptly stops between tests, you do not. It's like you hear a rhythm in the silence, and that mysterious beat is clearing the fog in his mind. He stands there. Transfixed by your back, subtly swaying side to side. He watches you travel from table to table with your cart of echo flowers. Their blue glow leaves a luminescent trail in your wake as you skip in a light, quick step. 1, 2, 3. Small hop. 1, 2, 3. Turn and twirl.

You're beautiful. Your soul is beautiful.

Who are you?

How can you dance like that? Red wonders if you even realize where you are, but you must know. You keep your head down and avoid eye contact with any monsters. Your dance moves are actually getting your job done faster, but with a grace that is mesmerizing. Do you realize you have an audience? Can you feel their hungry eyes?

Can you feel his eyes?

Yet if any monsters approaches you, they quickly leave. Why? Red fights the urge to find out for himself and heads to the bar instead. For once he finds the burning violet flames of the fire elemental bartender dim compared to the brilliance of your soul. It is blinding, and... if he wants to be honest with himself, a bit intimidating. He's not used to that kind of light.

Red takes a seat at the bar. "make it a strong one, grills."

"And one for the lady?" Grillby replies with a cheeky grin, but he only pulls up one glass. Red wonders how fire can smirk so clearly, and how he can read a room so well while working a crowded bar. _Once_  crowded bar. Anyone who had been sitting next to Red's bar stool has now conveniently finished their glass or found somewhere else to drink. No one replaces their spots. Red ignores them as he usually does and focuses on the closest monster he has to a friend, the snarky bartender.

"shut up," Red crushes the echo flower in the vase beside him and lowers his voice as he asks. "how many drinks have already been sent her way?"

"Ten purchased. None delivered."

"because she's human?"

"Because she's taken."

Red raises a brow bone at Grillby's answer. "i didn't see a collar."

The bartender shakes his head. "Not in that way. She's one of Muffet's girls."

Red nearly falls out of his seat, "from the brothel?"

Red looks back at you with a different lens. You would catch a high price with that vibrant soul of yours, but your appearance isn't right. He can't see your mark. Muffet requires all her humans to wear their hair up or buzzed in a way that highlights her symbol on the back of their neck. It looks like a simple spider tattoo, but it functions as both a warning to onlookers and a tracking device. Some of the spider monster's magic went into the ink. Muffet always knows where her investments are... and who was last with them.

"You're looking in the wrong place," Grillby chuckles in a sizzling hiss.

"how do you even see without eyeballs?" Red sneers. Grillby responds in kind, but now Red can see it. You've been showing it off with every step you take. Every dance move raises the fabric of your skirt just enough to reveal your ankle, where the spider rests. Clever girl. You're not a prostitute. You're a dance hall girl. And ready to dance through the night.

... But not here. You can't be. The Don only hires monster dancers for his parties.

 _But you'll be dancing somewhere._ Red downs his drink, flips a tip onto the bar and heads towards the door.

"Where are you going?" Grillby asks, with the tone of a monster who already knows the answer.

"gotta stretch my legs," Red flashes his signature pointed grin while Grillby shakes his head.

"Muffet never likes to deal with your kind," Grillby warns.

Red answers with a rude hand gesture to reflect how much he cares about the spider bitch's opinion. Her hall is in their jurisdiction. She claims neutral ground, but she's due for a visit.

He's sure they can come to an arrangement. A soul like yours will be worth every dime.

And even if it's only for a night, he'd like to dance in your light.


	2. Flower

You hurry into the locker room of the dance hall. Tapping your feet to the band you can hear through the wall, you grab your make up bag and look over the outfit you picked for the evening. The fabric is silky to the touch and will make you look like a flickering ember on the dance floor. It's eye catching. It's your favorite dress.

The beat picks up in the hall. You can hear the lyrics in your head. ' _Fever, when you kiss me. Fever when you hold me tight._ ' The music here is so much more alive than what was playing at that party you decorated. It's also different from the other dance halls around town. Muffet's Hall plays a variety of styles and, as an employee, you must know how to lead or follow depending upon the preference of the client. Muffet hires trained professionals; and when she can't find enough, she pays for those who are willing to be trained. That's how you found your place here. Your debt to Muffet is quite high, but in a few years you'll finally get to keep all your wages. It isn't so bad, either. You can think of worse ways to fill your nights.

"You're late," your friend, Beatrix, announces, poking her head into the room.

You wave her in saying, "Aren't you supposed to be standing in a line right now?"

"I'm pretending to have another smoke break. I haven't been able to dance more than a few dimes without coming back to check in here."

"You're a loyal friend."

"I'm your best friend! Now spill!" Beatrix sits behind you and starts working on your hair. "What was it like?"

You touch up your makeup while describing the decadent halls, fancy dresses, and the glimpse you got of the Monster King.

Beatrix sighs, "He sounds dreamy." You know she has a weakness for beast monsters. She's been reprimanded more than a few times for giving free dances to furry and fanged customers. "I'd take a switching for him."

"Or I'm sure he'd pay handsomely. He's a king! Your bust would be bursting with tickets," you mime fumbling, your dress overflowing with dance tickets as you try to put it on. Beatrix laughs and claps her hands.

"I'd do an  _after hours_  dance for that!" Beatrix winks at you in the mirror.

"Then perhaps you're in the wrong profession," Ameva, a rabbit monster and the hall manager, snidely comments from the doorway. "My sister runs Muffet's red light house if that's the job you'd prefer."

"No, ma'am," Beatrix stands up, quickly smoothing out her dress. This isn't the first time she's been threatened with a transfer.

"Well you're not dancing!" Ameva yells, thumping her foot on the ground with impatience. She continues to give Beatrix the evil eye until she scampers out the door. She pauses only to make a face behind Ameva's back. You tense your jaw to keep from smiling.

Then Ameva turns her attention to you. "You seem unharmed. I trust you took the Madam's advice to heart."

"I kept to myself and left after my job was done without talking to the Don," you nod, listing only a couple of directions you were given. "I apologize for being late -"

"We already knew you would be. If your cousin's shop wasn't so profitable for the hall, we wouldn't have permitted it," Ameva says with a dismissive wave of her paw and nod to the wall of flowers in the room. They are beautiful, but on the verge of wilting. They only have the night left in their life spans. Your cousin brings the waning blooms for the dancers to give one last spirited night out before they wither. Patrons can also buy them during the evening to decorate more of a dancer's hair, wrist, or décolletage.

You take a moment to choose your favorite, an orange rose with fiery red tips, and weave it into your hair. You wear this type every night. It has become your namesake here: Sunset Rose.

"Lovely," Ameva says dully. "Now go out there and make us all some money."

You leave without another word and only slow your step when you turn the corner. There's no one else in the back area. It must be a busy night. You close your eyes and let the music beat in your chest. It's a fox trot. The steps are second nature to you by now. It's simple and popular because of that fact. But a willing partner can permit a dancer to have a lot of fun with variations, dips, and twirls within the  _slow_ ,  _slow, quick, quick. Slow, slow, quick, quick_.

You reach the door to the hall and take a deep breath. Smile on your face, hair in place, flower secure, dress spectacular, you open the door to the grand hall and gaze into the sparkling webbed lights. They drape in the air like giant chandeliers and change color with the mood of each song. The world has become such an interesting place with magic. You join Beatrix in the line of dancers, standing and waiting to be asked to dance.

Each line is on a raised dais to display which girls and boys are still available. You're to present yourself like a window mannequin. It also gives you the ability to glance over the entire hall. In your experience, most partners can be found with just a long, connected gaze across the room.

There must be a hundred couples dancing before you. Each finely dressed and in tune with the band. The dancers are trained to never allow the floor to feel crowded. Though on a night like this, the occasional bump is unavoidable. There's a line of patrons waiting to buy more dance tickets and nearly every table is full. You smile at the prospect of making a lot of money tonight even though you came late.

Dancers make half the cost of each dance ticket and a third of every flower, drink, or snack bought for them. If you're really lucky, in the middle of the evening, you'll get a client who wants to sit and talk for a while - and is willing to pay for every dance you'll be missing.

"See the skeleton with Muffet on the second floor behind the band?" Beatrix whispers. You're not supposed to talk in line, but it's the only time the dancers get a moment to gossip amongst themselves. As long as they keep their voices low, there's little worry of getting the switch. "I've never seen him before, but he's making quite an impression."

You look up above the band. While the first floor is surrounded by open tables and the vendors for beverages, food, and flowers, the second floor is lined with private booths. Some are big enough for a party of ten with room for dancing; while others, like the one Muffet is in, are more cozy for two. Real couples can rent a booth to look out onto the hall, but only clients with a paid dance partner can be on the floor.

You catch the eye of the skeleton Beatrix is talking about. To your surprise, he doesn't break his gaze as he continues talking to your employer. His red, glowing eyes are intense. Even at the party you were just serving, you never looked at the skull of a living skeleton. It's said to be bad luck in these parts of the world. Not that you are superstitious, but on an instinctual level, the sight is frightening. You want to look away, but you're not one to break eye contact once it's formed. Usually a customer will break it themselves to look over the rest of your body, but you're finding no such relief. Instead, the skeleton just smiles, leans back in his chair, and settles into the gaze with the confidence of a man who doesn't back down from a challenge.

It's alluring, like he's saying he could look at your face forever. Your cheeks get hot from the undivided attention. This is an unexpected moment extending into many. Most second floor customers would be returning to their conversations right now. He acts like he's not in a booth with one of the most powerful monsters in this district.

Who is he? Well, whoever he is, your curiosity is perked, and it's not every night that you have the opportunity to catch the eye of a potentially, extremely wealthy donor.

You gather your wits and decide to be bold. Flashing your most winning smile, you look him over instead. The balcony covers his lower body, but even from this distance you can tell he's wearing a dark, perfectly tailored, three piece suit with red accents that match his shirt underneath. In the back of your mind it registers that his colors match your own. You'd look great on the dance floor together... or sitting across from each other in that balcony.

You meet his eyes again, and he raises a surprised brow bone underneath the shade of his fedora. Can he really be shocked that you're interested?

"You are such a bearcat," Beatrix whispers in admiration. "He can't take his eyes off you, girl!"

Encouraged by Beatrix' enthusiasm, you raise a suggestive eyebrow and place your hands on your hips to accentuate the curves of your body. You look pointedly from him to the dance floor below him. You're hoping your question is clear. 'Would you like to dance with me?'

You don't get to see his response. Muffet leans in front of your view. The back of her perfectly styled head is now all you can see. You wonder if you'll be switched later for interrupting their talk, or if she'll praise you for your ambition. One wealthy monster can bring in a week's worth of earnings if a girl plays her hand right. And that's the closest you've ever come to snagging one.

Beatrix just whistles in amusement. "You've got guts, but what if he's mafia?"

You hadn't thought of that. He is dressed the part and access to Muffet would mean he's pretty high level but... "This is that Don's district. I heard a few guests talking that he decreed no business deals happen anywhere but in the mansion tonight."

"Maybe he's from a rival family." Beatrix starts on one of her day dreams. She loves to spin a good tale almost as much as she loves gossip. "Maybe he's trying to charm Muffet to open her business on his turf. He's offering her a partnership! And to show his good fortune, he bought a round for every dancer in the building."

"Did he really?" you ask, surprised. What monster outside the mafia has that sort of wealth?

"That's what I was telling you while you were making eyes at him," Beatrix huffs in mock indignation. She's still giddy that you held his attention for so long... and maybe a twinge jealous. Though he's definitely not her type, Beatrix - or any one of them - would look past their preferences for this kind of opportunity. You personally can't help but be curious at how well a monster made of bones can dance. "But here's the kicker: he's been up there with the Madam for over an hour and hasn't taken a single dancer to the floor or up to the balcony yet."

"Rumor is he's looking to be taught," Rudy chimes in beside Beatrix. He wiggles his brows and shakes his hips as he adds, " _Private_  lessons."

Dollar signs flash in your mind as you calculate a dancer's cut of even an hour's worth of lessons in the booth. And clients who are taught usually gift their teacher well. You've only ever taught on the dance floor, but it is one of your favorite services to offer. It's a bit more intimate an evening, but if the client becomes too handsy, you just request they pay double the dance tickets. They always do, and a little grope on your ass is worth the night off. The booth is a little more intimidating for its isolation. But there's a bell for assistance in the back of every booth. Security will escort the client out of the hall... and to the doorstep of Muffet's other house of business.

Damien, a dragon scaled regular walks up to you and asks for your hand. You take a quick glance up at the booth, but Muffet is still blocking the view. Time is money, and waiting for what "could be" can waste both. You made your offer. If the skeleton wants to take you up on it, Muffet will send someone to find you. Besides, you love this song. "I would love to, Damien."

Once on the floor, you start your usual circuit, but you can feel his eyes like they are burning a hole onto the back of your neck. You refuse to look up. It would be disrespectful to your current dance partner. If he wants your time, he can pay for it. Only the first glance is free in Muffet's Hall.

You mingle with your regulars and avoid any new youthful faces. Those are always the most trouble with the least reward. The young ones rarely make enough to sustain any real patronage. Of course, that's what makes them Beatrix's favorites. She gives you a sly smile as she clings to the arm of a blushing young wolf monster. She's whispering in his ear and probably telling him how thirsty she is. You can imagine her laughter in your head saying, "I love 'em young, wild, and burning with the need to lose everything in their pockets!"

You dance, laugh, and eventually take up that paid-for beverage. Once you have it in your hand, you plan to cheers in his direction. As you wait in line, Ameva taps your shoulder. "You're wanted in Booth 13."

You pout, "But my tea..."

"He's already purchased a pitcher upstairs," Ameva rolls her eyes as if this is common procedure. Maybe it is. You wouldn't know. You've never entertained on the second floor before.

"Oh has he?" you try to keep your voice steady, but there are butterflies fluttering in your stomach. It is one thing to flirt across a room. Quite another to actually be chosen and end up in a booth alone with a stranger. Security or not, you've always had the safety of numbers on the dance floor. Maybe your eyes have gotten you in over your head this time. Are you really ready for this?

You think back to his smile and the challenge within it. Yes. You are ready, but jumping to a new level will make anyone nervous.

If Ameva senses your unease, she isn't acknowledging it. Instead she continues with the business, "He's booked you for the rest of the night. No need to ask for tickets. His contract is conditional on good behavior. There are no refunds. If you feel uncomfortable, you can walk out at any time."

You look her in the eyes after that last statement. Everything she said is common practice, but it's the way she said it... "Are you expecting me to need to leave?"

"I try not to expect anything, but... skeletons should not be trusted." Ameva's distaste for your client is clear, but obviously Muffet thinks he's still worthy of service. You follow her up the stairs and down the velvet hallway. Ameva stops midway to Number 13. You think she's going to say more, but she doesn't. Whatever internal battle she's going through, you aren't going to be let in on it.

When you reach the door, you realize you're holding your breath. You let it out and unclench your fists. Your heart is beating off tempo from the band as you cross the threshold into the uncharted territory of a balcony client.

"Here she is," Ameva announces you. "Sunset Rose. She'll be your dance teacher... and  _nothing else_."

Ameva shuts the door behind you, but not before extending a long glare in the skeleton's direction. You've never seen this side of her. The protective gesture sets you at ease and reminds you of how safe you are in this building. The tattoo on your ankle tingles for a moment. Muffet's thinking of you as well.

"you're not an easy human to get access to," The skeleton stood when you entered and remains standing now that you're both alone. However, that polite gesture seems to be the end of his repertoire of etiquette procedure. He doesn't offer his hand or even gesture you to sit; he just continues to stand there and look at you with his hands in his pockets.

You clasp your own hands behind your back. It gives him the full view of your dress, curves, and face. You're not sure how to respond to his statement. "Oh?" is the best you can come up with.

"yeah," he responds, a bit breathless as his eyes devour every detail of you. He's not hiding his attraction now that he has you alone. "turn off the light."

"Excuse me?"

His voice was a deep growl. You're not sure you heard him right, but if you did...

"i'm not gonna do anything  _lewd,"_ he smirks, using the word commonly stated in the contracts to refer to physical activity beyond dancing. "but i paid to see your glow. this lighting doesn't do you justice."

"I-"  _don't glow_. You stop yourself from finishing the sentence aloud as you watch his eyes fall on your chest. You understand monsterkind enough to realize he's not looking at your breasts. He's looking past them to your soul.

Before you started working here, you hadn't thought much on the existence of souls. But more than a few of the patrons have mentioned yours to you. None have been so bold as to ask you to stand in shadow so they can see it better. You wonder if he can show you what his kind sees.

Against your better judgment, you flip the switch on the wall beside you. The booth goes dark just as the band below pauses between sets. The silence is a bit jarring, but allows you to hear a satisfied grunt from your client. When the music picks up into a quick step, neither of you move. It's like time is in slow motion. Except your heart. It's keeping perfect time with the song. The dance calls you, but his eyes halt you.

In time, you adjust to the candlelight from the table. Its small flame illuminates your client's skull and the shadows across his wicked grin.

"that's more like it," he says, stepping away from the table. You're sure you should be turning back on the light. This has to be against the rules, but you're also... excited?

Learning to read the desires of a client and circumvent them is a dancers bread and butter. The better you are at stringing them along; the longer they'll pay for your company. But right now, in this booth, you're reading something new about yourself. A primal instinct is burning away your practiced speeches. His possessive gaze, backed by just how much he was willing to pay to bring you up here, is intoxicatingly flattering. Your mouth is getting dry in anticipation, and you lick your lips.

The candlelight is left to tend the table alone as he stalks forward and becomes a part of the shadows. The soft glow of the twinkling webbed lights decorating the balcony's frame create a surreal, ghostly outline of his silhouette.

Your heart pounds as those red eyes come closer. Their crimson light highlights the hollows in his skull. Soon they cast their glow across your skin as he stands before you. The smell of smoke and alcohol mix with your roses that decorate the table and every wall vase along the booth.

He's about your height, but his presence is made greater by his intensity. He raises his hand from his pocket to close the gap between you, and you let him. Giddiness overrides your fear. Curiosity is winning above all else.

His skeletal hand is made of thick, fused bone. Its calloused surface is rough against your skin as he gently caresses your cheek. "do you know how special you are?"

"You've only just met me," you whisper logic, but you let him keep his hand where it is. His bone buzzes with warmth against your skin. It's electrifying. "I don't even know your name."

"red," he grins, pleased that you haven't moved away. It emboldens him further. His breath is on your lips.

"Red is a color, not a name," you reclaim a bit of your wits. Most clients at least try to pick a believable alias. You pull back your head just enough to remain in his hold, but not be kissed.

"tell me about it,  _sunset_ ," he smirks, trailing his hand down your neck to your shoulder. A magical buzz follows his touch across your bare skin. His other hand sneaks his fingers between yours. "shall we dance?"

You're impressed by his form. "I was told you needed lessons."

"i do," Red dips his head down to your ear. You blush as his deep voice tickles your skin with a low growl. "i've been watching you for an hour. i'm a quick learner."

"Then show me what you've learned so far," you request and wonder how well the darkness is hiding your flushed cheeks.

A dark red glow appears in the booth as his tongue slips out and licks your earlobe. "you have sensitive ears."

"I-" you have to take a breath, tilting your head away. But he takes advantage of your exposed neck and extends his tongue along it. "Ahhh."

You melt a little and realize it must be his magic that creates that warm, tingling sensation you feel from his hands. It's more intense through his tongue made purely of magic.

Your attraction to this monster is weakening your professionalism. You need to take back control. You place your free hand on his shoulder and push him gently to arm's length, in proper dance form. "Ahem, that would be considered  _lewd_  behavior, sir."

"oh?" he asks in faux ignorance. His tongue clicks behind his sharp teeth and purrs "mmm," as if to say you taste delicious.

You ignore it with a smile, "As I was saying, I meant show me what  _dance moves_  you've learned."

Red obliges, and you both let the music take over. Red tries to lead, but even his observational skill could only pick up so much. You switch roles as you teach him not only the steps, but the subtle way Leads use pressure in their hands to tell their Follow what to do without saying anything.

"like this?" He gently squeezes your hand in his, magic buzzing against your skin.

"You've got it," you nod, a bit dizzy. The persistent hum from his magic is making you a bit light-headed.

A new glow appears in the room as red light surrounds the pitcher at the table. The tea pours itself and glasses float to you both. "you look thirsty."

"Thank you, Red," you cheers, and when you finish, the glasses return to the table. "Now that is a useful power. How big of an object can you move?"

Red flashes you a mischievous grin, and before you know it, you're flying. You yell in surprise and then quickly follow that with laughter as you soar in the air.

Near the ceiling of the booth, you can see the dance hall below. No one down there knows you're flying. You raise a hand, and he floats you in that direction. You lose yourself in the game and avoid cobwebs in the high corners. You giggle and twirl, carefree. He looks up at you with playful eyes. You feel like children.

For a while you forget you're working. You forget to care about proprietary or the fact that he might be able to see up your dress. You don't care. You're in the air!

When you finally come down, you land in his arms and wrap your own around his neck. He looks at you like you're the most precious person in the world, "you're like a shooting star."

You kiss him.

His strong arms squeeze around you and press you against him. You yield to his tongue parting your lips.

The music filters through your mind as your tongues dance.  _So, call me unpredictable. Tell me I'm impractical. Rainbows, I'm inclined to pursue..._

You cup his skull in your hands. Rough bone carved with cuts greet your finger tips and remind you that there's still so much you don't know about this monster. You gently separate your mouths and look him in the eyes.

He grins and in a mock serious tone says, "have we become too  _lewd_?"

"Oh yes," you nod, mimicking the same tone. "Rules have been broken, sir."

He kisses you again before he sets your feet on the ground and resumes the formal dance position. Without another word, you finish the song and then dance a few more.

The evening becomes filled with light kisses, dances, drinks, and snacks.

He fiddles with the rose in your hair. "is orange your favorite color?"

"Maybe tonight it's red," you joke. "What's your favorite food?"

"mustard."

You laugh a lot throughout the night. That seems to be his goal. Anytime you give a genuine smile he kisses you. He's content with that, and doesn't press you for any more physical activity. You talk about music, food, movies. You avoid the personal details like family, friends, work. Those are taboo topics in the dance hall and you like it that way. So does he.

By the end of the evening you find yourself sitting in his lap and feeding each other fruit. He'd moved the table away from the balcony edge. With the lights off, its kept you in relative privacy. You thought for sure Ameva or someone would intervene, but no one did. The second floor rules were obviously more lax, but you can't imagine doing this with many other monsters. This type of intimacy would be hard to fake for you.

He rests his head on your chest and you rub his back bones through his vest. He'd taken off his jacket some time ago. It's draped on the chair while his hat rests on the table. You both listen to the music wind down.

"this is nice," he mumbles into your chest. "you're nice. you're so nice."

He rubs his skull between your breasts. You slap his back playfully, "This isn't that kind of establishment, sir."

You enjoy that he stops, but not before slipping his tongue into your cleavage. It sends shivers through your body.

"date me," he looks up at you. You grab a date from the fruit bowl and pop it in his mouth. He snatches your hand before it leaves his lips and licks your fingers. "be mine."

"And end this fantasy?"

"continue it." He turns your hand around and kisses your palm and then moves up to the sensitive skin of your wrist.

You hesitate. This night has been unbelievable. You can't deny there's attraction, but those taboo subjects linger in the air. He could be married. He could have kids. And you still have no idea where he makes so much money.

He kisses up your arm, pulling your face down to meet his. "i'll keep you safe. you'll never want for anything."

"It sounds like a fairy tale," you kiss his forehead, but he pulls you down further towards his boney lips.

"it  _is_  a fairy tale. i'm your monster prince," he kisses you. It's deep and full of longing... on both sides.

"You're crazy."

"am i?"

"I don't even know your real name."

"sans."

"Are you married?"

"i live with my brother."

"What do you do for a living?"

"communications, research, i work a lot with the police commissioner."

"Like a detective?"

"something like that." You can tell he's holding back, but you're satisfied he's not a crook. How can anyone who's treated you so gently be? "have i passed the test?"

You kiss him in response and tell him your real name. Sans repeats it in a low moan as his hand finally slides past the hem of your dress and grips your thigh.

"let's get out of here."

You nod and the world around you shifts. The dance hall fades away, and you cling to him in the momentary black out. Then you're falling onto a large canopied bed of a richly decorated - though cluttered - room.

Sans shifts you beneath him, but you stop his advance with a solid hand on his chest. The bones of his rib cage press into your palm.

"teleportation," he answers your unsaid question. "another magic trick of mine."

"How many tricks do you have?" You smile, adjusting yourself between the soft mattress and his hard, boney body. You know this is fast. A little voice in the back of your mind warns that sleeping with him could mean you'll never see him again. Once he gets what he wants, he could move on to the next dancer. But you shrug the thought away. This evening has been so perfect. If it all ends after tonight, so be it. It will be a marvelous story to tell Beatrix and the others tomorrow.

"let me show you," he growls, taking your hand from his chest and pinning it above your head. He kisses you with more force than he has before. Between your legs you feel his need straining against the fabric of his pants.

"So skeletons do have..." you mumble around his tongue. Your eyes smiling for you as your hand plays with the elastic band of his suspenders.

"oh i have," he kisses you again. You push out from beneath him to have him unzip your dress. It is your favorite, and you say as much. You don't want him to think it's cute to rip it off or something.

He assents to your request and kisses each vertebrae of your back as he undresses you. You fall into a rhythm of touch. His tongue, your lips, his fingers gripping your hips. He can't seem to get enough of you now that he has access to all of you.

"you're so bright," he murmurs, his mouth on your breast.

"Is my soul the only reason why you choose me?"

"you sound disappointed," he looks up at you. His fingers caress your sides as he chuckles. "you want it to be for your looks?"

"No..." you run your fingers between the fabric of his vest and his shirt. "I just... it feels like being complimented on your eye color. I didn't do anything. I was just born with it."

"you may be born with a soul, but the brightness is all you, doll," Sans kisses the space between your breasts where your soul lies. His tongue licks your skin and excites your nipples with his magic. "you're attractive because you're good."

He kisses just above your breast, "good heart."

He kisses your mouth, "good words."

He kisses your forehead, "good thoughts."

He tweaks your nipples, "you shine when you feel good...."

He flashes a playful grin as he slides his hand down to your thigh and pulls your leg around his waist, "...and when you do good for others."

You enjoy his lesson and start to unbutton his vest. "I guess it's time for some charity work."

"why you little..." he claims your neck as you laugh at your own joke. His tongue makes it exceeding hard to concentrate on the buttons of his vest. Finally he takes pity on you, sitting up and unbuttoning the rest. You admire the reveal of his thick bones, but hesitate to touch them. "go ahead."

"What about the space in between...?"

He guides your hand to his rib cage and then inside it. He lets out a small moan and clenches your wrist in pleasure, "ahhh. we're just more sensitive on the inside."

You explore more of him as his fingers explore beneath your panties. You jump when his calloused tips first touch your swollen clit. You're so sensitive that you nearly cum from it. In truth, you've been wet since your first kiss.

You grip his shoulder blades and pull his mouth to yours as his fingers dip within you. He repeats his words with a husky breath, "more sensitive on the inside."

"Oh, Sans!" He curls his fingers, and you wrap your legs around him. You push the waist of his pants down to reveal his pelvis, glowing with magic. His cock nearly burns your inner thigh with its warmth. "I want you."

He pulls out his fingers and uses them to guide his cock to your entrance. He stops with your lips pressed against his tip in an intimate kiss. He looks down at your face and says, "are you sure?"

You answer him with a kiss. Squeezing your legs around him, you ease him inside. He moans against your lips as he sinks deep within you. His cock pulses against your walls like a heart beat. 

When his pelvis bumps against your own, you sigh at how full and complete you feel. You look into his eyes, and he whispers, "i can feel your light."

You squeeze around him, and he sighs against you. His bones rattle as he grows larger, stretching you. "i want to know every inch of you."

"Ohhhh," you rock yourself against him. You rub your clit along his hard bone as you keep him firmly inside you.

He watches you with bated breath as he holds himself in place. You're getting wetter as the pleasure within you builds.

"How much am I glowing right now?" You gasp in short breaths. The way he looks at you is intoxicating.

"burning," he clenches the sheets on either side of you. "you're amazing."

You make yourself cum against his body. Your orgasm ripples through him as you gush around his cock. He kisses you through your pleasure and whispers how beautiful you are.

In your sensitive state, he moves within you. You're so slick, he glides easily. He matches the rhythm you just demonstrated for him. His eyes watch your face to make sure he's not hurting you. His magic ignites nerves you never knew you owned.

Each thrust is more intense than the last. You can feel your pleasure build again as he rubs you in just the right spot.

"cum," he demands. "i want to feel your soul flare again."

You lose yourself in his magic. Your insides vibrate as your legs shake. He moans as you do. You cum again.

You're dripping with sweat and soaking his bones. He keeps going. Soon his thrusts become a bit longer, deeper. You can tell he's getting close and it's leaving you breathless.

"can i claim you?" He asks.

"Yes," you kiss him deeply and know you're safe thanks to a pill Muffet provides all her dancers.

He moans your name. Losing himself inside you with a masterful thrust.

It pushes you over the edge again and you bask in your own pleasure as he fills you. His seed is thick and clings inside you. "mine."

"Wow," you sigh in happy relief, exhausted from the night in all the right ways. "That was-"

"radiant," he smiles, dazed and content.

You hear a faucet turn on in the adjacent bathroom. He offers you a floating warm cloth to wipe off. Then picks you up to place you under the covers with him.

You cuddle, exchanging light kisses and even lighter caresses. His fingers play in your hair, and, as you drift off to sleep, he kisses your forehead, "goodnight, my light."


	3. Thorn

Sans dreams of darkness. Cries of children echo against cave walls. His father's laughter follows shortly after. The smell of blood taints the air and stains his bones...

He wakes up with a jolt. The morning sun peeks through the curtains, but it doesn't compare to your glowing warmth. Memories of last night help fight off the barbaric images still clinging to his waking mind.

He looks at your bare back and the need to feel joy again overtakes him.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

You wake up to light kisses along your shoulder. His bony fingers wrap around your waist and pull you into his body until your ass is snuggled into his pelvis.

You feel his magic grow around your skin, and his fingers trace small circles around your clit. You let out a sleepy moan, lifting your leg to accommodate his growing cock, pressing against you.

"good morning," he growls in your ear. You mean to respond, but your breath hitches as he enters you. His calloused hand grips your inner thigh and raises your leg higher, allowing him to plunge deeper inside. You cling to the sheets, trying to keep balanced. "grab onto me."

You reach behind to loop your fingers into his pelvic bone, pulling him further inside you. You moan in unison.

He kisses your earlobe then nips it lightly with his teeth as he starts to thrust. "my light. my sun. my morning. my girl." He bites down a little harder.

"Sans!" You gasp, wincing as his teeth break skin. He licks your small wound and picks up the pace.

You're caught between worry and ecstasy as his magic throbs inside you; his speed becomes ferocious.

"Sans!" You yell, but moan halfway through as his penis hits you in the exact right spot. His pelvic bone is bruising your ass with each intense thrust, but the adrenaline of your rising orgasm is overriding your ability to register much of the pain.

You look back at his face, but his eyes are black, distant, and unable to register your glance. He's lost himself inside you. With a heated growl, he pushes you down on your stomach and raises your hips to mount you.

"Ahhhh!" Your voice is muffled by the bed sheets as he thrusts deeper. The bed creaks while the room fills with his grunts and the sound of bone slapping against skin. 

"cum around me!" He demands, slipping a hand down to rub your sensitive clit. You arch your back in response, and he grabs a handful of your bruised ass. You cry out, but it's lost in the sheets and him moaning your name over and over with each thrust. Sometimes his words will end with a breathy "m'light."

His insistent fingers and powerful rhythm send your orgasm rushing against you like a tidal wave. He rides your pleasure. His cock bursts with so much magic, cum drips down your legs when he's done.

He collapses to the side and pulls you to him. "you're incredible."

You look at his face and his eye lights have returned. Grateful for the sight, you cup his cheekbones in your hands, "I lost you back there. It scared me a little."

Your words surprise him. Sans' eyes lock onto the cut on your ear as if he's seeing it for the first time. "i'm sorry..."

You shake your head, "It was still amazing. I didn't communicate well enough. We should come up with a safe word."

"alright," his shoulders relax. He squeezes your ass, and you wince. He props himself up so he can see the bruises forming on your skin. His eye lights dim. "i was too rough."

You're grateful for his remorse. This morning was definitely more intense, but... goddamn if you aren't glowing in how gloriously fucked you are. Your muscles ache, your nerves are overloaded with endorphins, and your insides are thoroughly stretched with the imprint of him. You feel amazing, but it is going to be uncomfortable to sit for a while.

"Thorn," you decide. "That's a good safe word."

"agreed," Sans kisses you with the tenderness you remember from last night. "wanna take a shower, my light?"

You welcome the offer, but then you notice just how messy his room is. Clothes have been flung over carved oak furniture; take out boxes litter his mahogany desk; and glass is shattered on the ground from a broken corner of his door length mirror. Before you can look around further, a magical tornado of objects picks up any out of place material and leads it into a closet. The door shuts, and Sans gives you a wink. "wasn't expecting company."

"Should I be afraid of what the bathroom looks like?" You smirk, and he disappears into thin air. You hear scrubbing, clanking, and water running behind the bathroom door. You laugh, leave him to it, and walk along the now-clean rug to the balcony doors. You peak through the curtain to see if the view is secluded and then gasp in amazement.

You walk out naked to the sound of the ocean. Below is a secluded beach inlet with no other houses in sight. You hum in delight as a light sea breeze greets you with a soft caress that raises the hairs on your skin in delight. You lean on the wooden railing and watch the waves roll onto the shore.

It's calming.

You must be on the Upper East Side of the city. It's the only spot with beach front property. The mansion you had served yesterday was in the same area only further up in the mountain.

How strange that you should start your night there and end it only a few miles down the road.

You're thankful you took that shift. Your cousin gave you the day off because of it. You only work three days for her, but today is your usual day. You don't have any other obligations except a late lunch with Beatrix at 2. After what you must have made last night, you can probably splurge on a taxi to get you home on time. That way you don't have to leave in a rush.

A sudden pressure at your ankle let's you know Muffet's thinking of you. You wonder if she knows this address well. She will most certainly know you are not home. Your apartment is on the opposite corner of town.

You'll have to go to her office tonight before the dance. She'll remind you of your debt and the fact that having a boyfriend doesn't stop you from having to dance...

Boyfriend. Is he your boyfriend? You're jumping to conclusions like you've never gone to bed with a client. He's gotten what he wants - twice - and, judging by his place, he could have any girl he wants.

The call of a seagull interrupts your thoughts. You watch it soar in the sky and join others by the dock below. There's a small fishing boat rising and dipping with the waves. You focus on the rhythm and calm the negative thoughts rising in your head.

There's nothing wrong with enjoying the moment. It's time to be present and listen to the sounds of the sea. You enjoy the view.

You don't know how long you're out here before Sans wraps his arms around your waist and kisses your neck. He's careful not to press into your bruised bottom half.

You turn around in his embrace. Your bare body enjoys the familiarity of his skeleton. In the sunlight, it's a bit unnerving to be able to see between his bones to the deck beneath, but it's easy to ignore as his lips cover yours. His fingers trace designs along your skin, "you're beautiful."

"This place is amazing. I didn't peg you as a beach house type, though."

"i'm not, but my brother always dreamed of the beach. wasn't a place you could create in the underground," he answers, kissing down to your breast. "i just wanted a spot where i could look at the stars."

You arch your back as he takes your nipple in his mouth. You feel his cock forming between your bodies.

"Again?"

"you're irresistible. just standing out here. flaunting my scent." You haven't thought of it like that. You are still full of his cum, sticking to your insides like glue. You're truly glad for Muffet's pill or you'd be worried.

He picks you up by the waist. You wrap your legs around him and hook your ankles behind his spine. His cock rubs against your stomach as he kisses you. "your shower awaits."

He brings you back inside and into the bathroom, already steaming up. You sigh in the luxury of warm water against your back. He sets you down and then kneels at your feet.

Surprised, you look down at his grinning skull, winking up at you, droplets falling from your hair. He leans in, between your thighs, and swirls his magical tongue around your clit. You moan, gripping one of the many hand holds mounted on the shower wall. You raise your eyebrows at the convenience and shear number of them. You manage to gasp out, "You must really like the shower."

He answers with a waggle of his tongue that has you moaning louder. Your voice echoes under the ministrations of his extremely talented magical appendage. Much to your delight, between your breaths, you can hear the wet pump of him pleasuring himself while your legs shake around him. There's something incredibly sexy about being worshipped by his mouth and his mind as he masturbates beneath you.

"Ah... yes... faster... mmm... faaaaa... sah...," you lose the ability to speak and find yourself relying heavily on the shower holds. Sans starts to slurp as he sucks on your clit to punctuate each swirl of his tongue. You're finding it hard to breath with water falling into your open mouth.

Your ankles weaken, and you grind yourself against his tongue until it's too much. You try to pull yourself up as you cum, but Sans somehow brings you down. Like a magnetic pull, gravity guides you into his lap. Mid orgasm he plunges inside you. You ride him in your pleasure. Pushing him back against the shower wall as you use lower wall holds to pull yourself up and down. You ignore the ache of bruised ass cheeks while you use every muscle to keep the perfect rhythm and then clench them when you cum.

Water falls around you as his magic elongates your orgasm with its gentle vibration. He lets you use him. Your mind focuses on the pleasure of rubbing your body against his while his hard cock remains firm inside you.

With his eyes trained on your chest, he smiles impossibly wide and basks in your glow. "you're so sexy, so bright..."

You feel amazing, empowered, free. You orgasm again on top of the one you are having. As you squeeze around him, he cums inside you once more. You relish the warm burst of his magic that intensifies your climax.

Breathing hard, you collapse into his lap. Your heart is pounding so fast that you're sure Sans can feel it on his rib cage. He strokes your back. Warm water washes over you both, and you feel his magic shrink and then disappear from inside you.

When you've regained yourself. You kiss the wet bones of his clavicle and then travel your lips up his neck... jaw... mouth. He kisses you gently in return. His tongue dances with yours like it did last night in the hall.

Has it really only been one night?

How crazy is life that you are kissing a skeleton in a shower bigger than your entire apartment's bathroom? And you feel so... good. He feels so good.

He chuckles in your kiss. "you're getting pretty bright, sweetheart."

You sit up, looking down at him beneath you. You cross your arms over your chest with a fake pout. "Can you get my permission before you read my emotions through my soul?"

"can you stop burning them into my eye sockets?"

"I don't know how to..."

"and i don't mind, my light," he pauses, lifting one of your hands to his mouth and kissing past the water steaming along your skin. "being with you makes me happy too."

His statement makes your heart jump. Is this truly your reality now? You're afraid to hope. Too many dancers get their hearts shredded for hoping too much. But the way he talks...

You kiss him, and he holds you like you're the most precious treasure in the universe. You stay locked into each other and wasting more water than should legally be allowed.

Eventually you actually wash each other, scrubbing bones and massaging soap into skin. You dry each other off and then go in search of your clothes. You find everything but your panties. The little tornado from earlier must have taken them.

"Do I smell bacon?" The scent catches you off guard until you remember that Sans said he lives with his brother.

Sans cringes, fiddling with the cuff links on his sleeve. He won't make direct eye contact with you. "edge believes every human's weakness is bacon. he's trying to lure you downstairs."

"Good tactic." You notice Sans hesitating. His body language triggers a memory of a different morning. You had been taken home by a client, but the night ended earlier than expected when his wife returned home. "Do you not want me to meet him? Should I shimmy down from the balcony?"

Sans chuckles, shaking his head. "no." But there's still something he's not saying.

"It won't hurt my feelings if you don't want me to meet him," you try to say honestly. You've been enjoying this fantasy. You've gone from a night of dancing - where you were literally swept off your feet - to an uncountable amount of orgasms. You thought he felt the same until this hesitation. Is this fantasy truly going to end like so many others the morning after? Insecurity is weeding its way inside your mind. He is obviously a monster of high social standing. You wonder if he's embarrassed to be seen with a human.

You naive idiot...

But Sans grabs your hand in his. You look up at him. He's focusing on the way your fingers interlock around his bones. He doesn't say anything, and you don't want him to. Instead, you let your fingers dance, smooth skin on calloused, repaired bone. So many scars... you'd seen them all last night. They just confirm the stories you heard about the violence underground before the monsters surfaced. That world must have been awful, and yet now he lives in this peaceful home. How did he get to this place in his life? You want to know more about him. You want to see him again.

You want him to want to see you.

He sighs in resignation, and you wait, holding your breath for his words. His shoulders sag. It doesn't help your mindset. But then... he looks up at you with longing.

... it's not you he's hesitating about.

You're overwhelmed by this tension. You tug on his suspender strap with your free hand and pull him in for a kiss. He clings to you like it's the last one he'll ever have. His hands find their way around your waist. You wrinkle his shirt in your palms as you clutch his rib cage. You want to ignore whatever is bothering him and savor the feeling of him again. But you can't stop yourself from asking the question that you don't want to, "What aren't you telling me?"

Sans sighs, rubbing your arms and looking you up and down. He deflects, "i could just teleport us to a breakfast joint."

"Or you could bite the bullet now."

"that doesn't sound as appetizing."

You crack a smile despite yourself. "I think that's the point."

He pauses and then whispers, "thorn."

"Our safe word?"

"if i say it, the world stops, right?" He grins, but it doesn't reach his eyes.

Your mind races through what could possibly be waiting for you down there; until the answer yells at you both from the kitchen.

"BREAKFAST IS READY!" He has an impatient voice. A familiar voice. An unforgettable voice. You heard it quite clearly the entire night... at the Don's party.

And you realize that it's not a coincidence that this house is on the same side of town. He followed you...

It wasn't just Sans' race as a skeleton that made Ameva dislike him so much. Muffet usually has a very strict policy against...

Against...

Beatrix's question plays back in your mind. ' _But what if he's mafia?_ "

Your eyes widen as Sans' eye lights fall, sinking into the depths of his skull, at your reaction. He lets you step away from him. His hands going to his pockets, like the moment you entered the booth...

The booth of a criminal. Had he done something earlier in the evening? Maybe even at that party? Would cops be at your door later asking for confirmation of his whereabouts? It wouldn't be the first time a mobster tried to use a dance hall girl to take the fall.

"Was this all just for an alibi?" You choke on the words. It can't be true, but it really can. Was this all an act? Did he think treating you well would sweeten the deal? You start to feel rage as your thoughts spiral. You're not even sure who you're mad at more. Muffet for breaking her rule? Him for not telling you? Or yourself for being stupid enough to ignore the signs?

What would you do now? Most dancers caught up in mafia affairs... most die before they can witness at trial...

"i didn't..." He starts, stepping closer, but you take another step back. He furrows his brow at your action. Balling his fists, he's shaking with emotion...

And then he stops. An eerie calm overtaking him. His eye lights blink off and leave empty sockets to darken in their wake. An apathetic smirk rises from his clenched jaw, and his face becomes the mask of a gangster you don't recognize. Shadows settle into the hollows of his bones. The temperature in the room drops enough to raise the hairs on your skin. And when he speaks, his even monotone pushes your back against the bedroom door, "you think i'm a monster, doll?"

Your instincts tell you to run, but your racing heart beats a different message. And maybe it is insanity to listen, but there's pain in his voice. He's not taking any more steps towards you. How can he be threatening while also giving you space? "well, i am what i am. but i've never needed anyone to bear my lies. i take care of myself, and i take care of my own," he pauses, hesitating again as he looks at you, unsure of your own next move. The shadows pass from his eye lights, blinking back into existence. "you'd be safe with me."

"Am I not safe without you?" You can't help the fearful rise in your voice. You're not running away, but... are you really starting an argument with a gangster? It's as thrilling a concept as it is terrifying. Your heart is racing with foolish adrenaline. "Because if that's what you're implying-"

"ain't implying nothing," he growls, grabbing your wrist and pulling you in to him. His other hand wraps around your waist to anchor you against his body. The action is passionate... intimate... reminding you both of what you've done together.

But it's also frightening. The equality - that camaraderie - you felt last night is dissolving into the reality that he is much stronger than you. "job's a job. doesn't change how i feel about you. you're a treasure that spider is willing to sell to the highest bidder. i know most of the monsters who took you around the floor last night. the bitch's price is high, but i'm sure they're saving. it only takes one night-"

"To get me in bed? I don't usually do this. I-"  _I made an exception for you._  The unspoken sentence lies between your bodies still pressed firmly together. You try to push away, but this time he won't let you.

"they're not after this, doll. they want a private dance with that soul of yours." The worry in his tone stops your struggle in his arms. What is he talking about?

Seeing your willingness to listen encourages him, and he continues. His hand around your waist relaxes a little. "the spider knows what a monster can do alone with a human like you."

His eyes wonder down to your chest where your soul lies. The gesture is all too familiar. He's not the first monster to spend the evening doing just that, but no one's ever mentioned any danger being associated with the act.

"It's just light, isn't it?" You say the words, but you know it's more important. It's your soul... but you've still never seen it. "How can anything so important be invisible to the one who owns it? Besides we're not alone in the booth, there's security -"

Sans says your name to stop your nervous ramble. His body tenses around you as he whispers, "your price includes  _uninterrupted_  access."

Silence falls with the gravity of his words. He doesn't say any more. He let's your mind wander over every aspect of last night: Ameva's hesitation in the hallway; no one coming in after you turned off the lights...

You think of the security chord near the door. If you had needed it... if Sans had been anyone else... no one was going to come?

The weight of this knowledge is overwhelming. You lean into Sans' arms for support.

...the arms of a mobster...

...who is now gently kissing the top of your head.

_You could have lost your soul._

No one was going to come.

"How much?" Your words are haunted and incomplete, but Sans understands. He says a number that makes your eyes go wide. "That's..."

"your debt plus the booth and a nights worth of amenities," Sans nods, and cracks a smile. "i told ya you weren't cheap."

But his joke is falling on distracted ears. "You bought my debt?"

"yeah." He sobers his tone to calm you. "my light-"

" _My_  light. Do you say that because you bought me?" He flinches at your accusation, and then shakes his head.

"you're free."

"Why free someone you never met?" But the real question is beating with confused tension between you as you honestly wonder:  _Why didn't you take my soul?_

He answers by leaning in to kiss you. You keep your eyes open. Looking into the scarred sockets of a monster utterly enamored, you let his boney lips press against the soft opening of your mouth. His magic hums against your skin. His bones rattle softly. You feel his ribs, arms, hips vibrate against your body like a physical purr. The magic he left inside you warms, reminding you of everything that's passed between you... within you.

"Mmmm," you're humming in remembrance. His kiss becomes more crushing. You close your eyes as a light flashes across your eyelids. It's a brilliant, burnt orange like a fire blazing in a night sky. It takes your breath away.

"my light," he smiles against your mouth, and you smile in return.  _My light..._

The blare of a ringing bell from below interrupts you, jumping in shock, but Sans keeps you steady in his embrace. The noise sounds like... "Is that a kitchen bell?"

"my brother is getting impatient."

"What will he do next if we don't come down?" you ask with a smirk despite the whirlwind of emotions battling within you. His brother... bacon... breakfast... mafia... the party last night... how you felt dancing above the ground... in the sheets... right now.

Your thoughts are like waves along the shore, but you're also starving. Your stomach growls, but you still have so many questions. So many concerns.

Sans shrugs, "he'll stop being so polite."

The bell rings again. This is polite?

Your stomach growls again. "Then I guess we've made him wait enough."

Sans kisses your forehead as the world distorts around you. Like last night, vertigo hits you as you teleport from the bedroom to the kitchen.

"IT'S ABOUT TIME!" A booming growl greets you, and Sans' body tenses around you. Alarm tingles across your skin as magic crackles in a brilliant but shocking light display: red exploding against red. You're not sure what's going on; until you realize that you're in the middle of a battle. "DIE HUMAN!"

A red dome is shielding you from a barrage of lightning fast attacks. They look like sharpened red bones flying from the skilled hands of a skeleton twice your height.

"what the hell, edge?!" Sans yells, obviously as surprised as you, but much more angry.

"I'M SAVING YOU FROM TEMPTATION, BROTHER! THIS HUMAN IS OBVIOUSLY A WITCH!" Edge yells, stopping his attack and forming a long bone sword in his hand.

"A what?" You ask, surprised and not sure you heard him right. Edge's red, determined gaze is focused on you as he crouches into a predatory stance. The tip of his sword is aimed at the center of your chest. Your heart jumps with the need to flee, but Sans places a steady hand on the small of your back for reassurance.

"she's not a witch," Sans says. Then his eyes slide to the side, and he gives you a small smile that sets your nerves at ease. "are you?"

"No!" You exclaim, flinching as his brother charges at you both.

But you're suddenly behind his brother. Sans teleported you both again. The table set for three is beside you. Each plate is full of what looks like spaghetti noodles covered in syrup and sprinkled with large hunks of maple glazed bacon.

"I SAW HER AT THE PARTY, RED. SHE BEWITCHED EVERY MONSTER IN THE ROOM. EVEN FATHER ASKED ABOUT HER," Edge opens his hand and a red magical net bursts from his palm. It nearly encircles you both, but Sans teleports you again. "HE WAS UPSET SHE LEFT WITHOUT SAYING GOODBYE."

This time you end up so close to Edge's back that you can see the tiny skulls sewn into the fabric of the bands that hold his rolled up sleeves on his upper arm bones. He's a much leaner build than his brother. It's difficult to see the resemblance aside from them both being skeletons. "BUT FATHER WAS MORE UPSET THAT YOU LEFT WITHOUT TELLING HIM."

Sans snaps Edge's suspender strap before Edge attacks with a sharp elbow. He misses again as the room spins in another teleportation.

You put a hand on Sans' shoulder for support as dizziness overtakes you. Sans nods in understanding and steps in front of you as you lean on the kitchen counter. He forms a sword of his own to combat his brother, and then looks back at you with a wink, "she's really attractive, bro."

You blush, as Edge responds, confused, "SHE IS?" The sharpness of his features dissolves into a more innocent softness.

Sans chuckles and whispers back to you, "my brother only has eyes for monsters."

"ARE YOU SAYING YOU LEFT OUR FATHER'S BIRTHDAY PARTY BECAUSE YOU WERE HORNY?" Edge's sword disappears as he shakes his head in disgust.

You should be relieved that you've been absolved of witchcraft, but... their Father's birthday party. The words dissolve your smile. Red's eye lights dim in response.

They hadn't been talking about one of the older skeleton guests at the party... they had been talking about the Don himself.

"Your father is the Don?" Your heart is racing, and Sans turns slowly to face you. His eyes jump between your chest and your face.

"does that change things?" His words are painfully calm, like he's afraid any sudden moment or tone change will cause you to run.

"HOW DOES YOUR HUMAN NOT UNDERSTAND BASIC FAMILY STRUCTURE?" Edge stomps over in curious huffs that have you stepping back. The edge of the kitchen counter is digging into your back.

You don't know what to say. You can't put your feelings into words. You'd only just been wrapping your head around the idea of possibly, actually dating a mafia monster. But if his father is the Don, then Sans is also a boss monster.

... can you date a mafia boss monster?

"This is... a lot," you finally say. Sans nods with a sigh and opens his mouth to speak, but then your stomach growls, breaking a bit of the tension.

"WHY ARE YOUR INTESTINES MAKING NOISE, HUMAN?"

You're caught off guard by the question and the alarm on the face of this skeleton that was previously trying to kill you. It makes a small laugh burst from your chest, and Sans smiles. "she's just hungry, bro."

"WELL SHE WOULDN'T BE IF YOU HAD COME DOWN EARLIER. I WILL SET HER A SPOT AT THE TABLE."

Edge grabs a plate from the cabinet and brings it to the table, already set for three. Sans tenses, grabbing your hand as you ask, "Who's the fourth plate for?"

" **Me**."

You feel the sensation of teleporting, but this time it's much more turbulent. Red streaks of light flash against darkness as you're tossed around like a piece of flotsam in a storm. You tumble onto the ground and hear the word "safe" in your ear as everything goes quiet.

"Sans!" You yell, but you're alone on a wooden floor with tables surrounding you. Four chairs are upside down on each table, and you realize you're in the private room of a restaurant. Through the closed door, you can hear the sound of people chatting and silverware clinking as they eat. The smell of burgers, eggs, and hash browns fill your nose, and your stomach grumbles again despite your heart racing in panic. Where's Sans?

You look all around, but he really isn't with you. You whisper his name, "Sans?" But there's no response. You have a bad feeling. You know that was the Don who entered the kitchen, but what happened? And where did Sans send you?

The door opens and a purple light filters into the room from the glow of the monster now before you. You recognize him from last night. He was the bartender, a fire elemental who burns so hot that he's violet. Even though you're across the room from him, you begin to sweat from the heat he's emitting.

"Ah, Muffet's girl," his voice sizzles like a grease fire. He sounds more amused than surprised at your appearance, and his eyes are focused on your chest. After what Sans warned you about your soul, you're feeling extremely vulnerable about its apparent brightness.

"I'm not Muffet's anymore," you say, setting the record straight and hoping he'll take that as a hint that you're not for sale.

"Oh? Then who do you belong to now?" He takes a step forward, and still isn't looking up at your face.

"I-"  _belong to myself._  You stop yourself from finishing your sentence as he takes another step towards you. You're beginning to realize most of your encounters with monsters have been at the dance hall. Has Muffet's mark really been the only thing keeping you safe?

"I belong to Sans." You mean to say it casually, but it comes out in more of a squeak as his heat overwhelms you.

You're visibly sweating now. You wonder how the whole building doesn't go up in flames.

"Sans?" The monster repeats the name with a hint of nostalgia, like he's trying to remember who you're talking about.

"Red," you correct yourself as the monster closes the space between you. "He said I'd be safe here."

"Mmm," his body crackles around you. "Another item on his tab  _unless_..." he hisses the last word into a purr. "...you'd like to pay the tab of your new master?"

You flinch at both the term "master," and the suggestive nature of the question. His purple flames lick at your exposed skin with warm flickers. You jump away and crash into a table. Chairs fall to the ground with a bang, and your shoulder now really hurts. "I - sorry - I - no."

The monster shrugs in disappointment and straightens up. He adjusts his fine fur coat over his vest and tie. You marvel that none of it is singed, and feel a bit self conscious at your own state of last night's dress. Then your stomach grumbles with its usual obnoxious timing. "So be it. I will bring you a meal."

"I don't have any money." Your purse is still at Muffet's...

The monster turns his back to you and waves your concern away with a flick of his gloved palm. "Like I said, I'll add it to his tab."

For a moment, you contemplate paying off that tab to make you even with Sans, but your legs quake at the thought of that monster's heat... You're not sure you'd survive the encounter.

"Did he mention when he would retrieve you?" the monster asks before opening the door.

"Uh, no. His dad - the Don - walked in..." you're not sure how much you should say, but you also don't know much more than that. The monster nods in understanding.

"Then you should use the phone on the back wall. This room will be occupied in a few hours, and you'll not want to be here by then."

"Where am I?"

"You're at Grillby's Bar on 54th and Lime."

"And you are -"

"Grillby," he flashes a grin. Of course he is.

He leaves you alone, and you pick up the phone. You contemplate calling Beatrix, but you don't want to get her involved in all this. You decide to call a cab, but then remember you don't have any money. You call Beatrix.

"Thank the Stars, you're okay!" she exclaims on the line.

"It's been one helluva night, Bea." You promise to fill her in if she can meet you here. "And can you bring a change of clothes?"


	4. Blossom

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Pay attention to the tags in this story.

Sans sighs in relief when his teleportation is a success. Grillby will take care of you.

Then he falls to the ground as a dark whip of void magic lashes across his face. He presses his hand against his eye socket and resolves to do everything in his power to heal the crack he can feel breaking across his skull. The last thing Sans wants is a scar like his boss. Being related is enough of a burden.

" **I could forgive your absence for a soul like hers** ," the Don begins, hovering over Sans' body. Sans knows better than to put up any defense. He'll take his punishment with a smile on his face, knowing you won't also be a target of his boss' current wrath. Sans groans in pain as the whip snaps around his neck and pulls him to his knees. " **But why is she still** ** _alive_** **?** "

"i like to play with my food?" Sans mocks and then grits his teeth as the whip tightens around his neck. It cracks one of his vertebrae with a sickening crunch. "ah!"

" **Don't even pretend that you can lie to me** ," the Don snarls, and Sans hears his brother stifle a whine. Edge always devolves into a child when faced with their father's anger. It's a psychological quirk that makes times like these more painful for Sans. Now it feels like his baby brother - still dressed in play armor and wearing a cape around the house - is in the room. " **You've never taken a pet.** "

"first time for everything," Sans spits out, trying to ignore the intense pain in his spinal column as his boss hovers over him, yanking the whip tighter. Sans can feel a second vertebrae cracking...

"JUST TELL HIM THE TRUTH, RED!"

Papyrus... Edge... why does he have to be so dramatic over broken bones? Sans has healed from far worse. Now he wants to comfort his brother and tell him to hush, but he's in no position to do so.

"HE'S DATING HER."

oh no...

" **Dating**..." the Don grinds the word through the darkness in his hollow skull. He releases Sans from the whip and kicks him to the ground with a crushing blow. " **You've always been a romantic. I knew I never should have bought you that telescope. You star gaze too much when you should be paying attention to the world around you**."

The Don cradles Sans' face in his claws before slapping him in the skull, splintering further from the crack made earlier. It hurts. " **We're monsters. We're masters of this domain. We rule. We consume. We breed... we don't** ** _love_** **.** "

"it doesn't have to be that way," Sans picks himself up, but the Don pushes him back down. Sans bones begin to freeze under the Don's presence.

" **I could shatter you** ," the Don whispers. Sans is surprised by just how serious he is. This isn't just his boss talking. In his own twisted way, this is his father trying to teach him a lesson. " **I could**   **splinter you into pieces until you remember where we come from. Light doesn't follow the dusted. Only darkness.** "

Sans tries to look away, but the Don's face is now all he can see. Those dark sockets sink further into shadow with the truth of his words. " **You can't love what you're meant to devour**."

"let me try... dad."

The request hangs in the thin air between them. It is humiliating. It is desperate.

It is something Sans would never do until now. Bending to his father's ego is a worthy price to see you again.

But it's a risky move, dangerous even. If the Don says no; Sans may never see you again.

Would his boss have Edge take you out?

The Don analyzes Sans face for longer than anyone would find comfortable. The void shadows swirl in their never ending mechanizations within his skull. Finally, he nods, allowing Sans to rise from the ground with a sigh.

" **She will be your weakness, and she will be your pain** ," he pronounces like a curse, even though it is the greatest blessing he's ever given. " **But when this little experiment of yours fails, it will not break you. I will permit it.**

" **Now finish the breakfast your brother made you. I have a job for you that will take the place of your forgotten birthday present.** "

Sans didn't forget. He just didn't get one. Once he heard the job, he wished he had.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Distracted, you nearly walk straight into a monster kid as your thoughts cloud around the dance hall ahead. Beatrix holds your hand as you cross the street towards the building, now ominous with the information you know. Even after everything you told her, Beatrix won't stop dancing. Her debt has yet to be paid off. "Besides," she added when you talked over breakfast. "No one's ever laid eyes on my soul like they have yours."

She pointed out that she's been to bed with plenty of ferocious types, but she's never run into trouble. "Muffet's mark keeps me safe. One wolf told me he would have eaten me alive if it weren't for it."

"That's horrifying!" you exclaimed.

Beatrix just shook her head with her sly smile, "Or exciting. I don't think I'll ever leave Muffet's service."

You may never understand your friend's taste in monsters, but she wagged a finger at you. "Don't look at me like that when you're going to date a mafia monster. You have this danger kink more than you let on."

You tell her you hadn't made up your mind about Sans, but she ignores you. "You said he's great in bed. He's rich, well dressed, and funny. Me thinks she doth protest too much."

But Beatrix has a habit of protesting too little... so you let it go. She let you sleep at her place, and you left for the hall together. You've resolved to get last night's earnings and then take some time off; maybe do more shifts at the flower shop.

Ameva greets you both at the door. For once, she seems genuinely happy to see you. "Sunset! You look well!"

 _'_ _Well,_ _'_ _ha! You mean_ _'_ _not dead._ _'_ You think, but hold your tongue. There's no reason to let her or anyone in management know you're on to their market of soul sales. "Sorry I left without checking out, Ameva. Can we cash out now?"

"Of course, Madam is waiting for you in the office."

"Madam Muffet?" What can it mean that the boss monster is waiting for you? "I mean, I didn't think she handled cash out."

"She does when a debt is paid off. Record time for debt repayment. Very impressive," Ameva pats you on the back while turning you towards the office. She leans in so only you can hear her next words. "I suggest you take the offer she's going to give you, or this will probably be your last sunset."

Before you can respond, she pushes you towards the office door and hurries Beatrix into the changing room. You're left alone in the lobby.

You remember walking in here just a year or so ago. A "Dancers Wanted" flyer in your hand, you had been so nervous. Were you shaking as much then as you are now? Back then, you didn't know what to expect. You'd never been around monsters. Now you know exactly who you're dealing with: a cunning, shrewd businesswoman, boss monster, Madam of whores and dancers.

You stare at the office door. The spider awaits. She sold you last night to the highest bidder. Will she really give you your wages, or will she try to finish the job she thought Sans was going to do? 

You hear the band tuning their instruments from the hall in the other room. It seems surreal that your perspective of this place should change so drastically after just one night. Soon this room will be filled with patrons buying tickets and reviewing the lineup. Your picture is on that wall with all the rest. You wonder if your soul is visible in that photograph? You'd always thought the lineup was randomly organized, but now you wonder if there's another order you've just been unable to see.

It doesn't matter. You're not coming back after tonight anyway. This place has proven to be far too ... "exciting," as Beatrix would say. She still trusted Muffet's protection. But Sans' words keep coming back to your mind,  _i know most of the monsters who took you around the floor last night... they want a private dance with that soul of yours._

You can't ignore what you now know, but you also can't turn down the amount of money you made last night. You have bills and a rent to pay. You won't get enough shifts at the shop before this month is up. And Sans... well, you're not sure where that relationship is going. You shiver just thinking of his father's influence over this city. He isn't known for positive relations with humans...

Your mind is made up. You need this money. You open the office door and step straight into a small strand of web. It's unnerving, and you restrain your initial reaction to bat away the web from your face, and recite the protocol you were taught on the first day of work for Muffet, "I apologize for my clumsiness."

"Nonsense, dearie, that one is just a web bell," Muffet laughs, allowing you to wipe your face and step inside. The spider monster is doing at least four things at once: pouring a cup of tea; crunching numbers on her calculator; filling in a time schedule; and reading the local newspaper. She stops her other activities as she passes you the steaming cup. Giving you her undivided attention, all eight eyes reflect your face. She asks, "Honey? Sugar?"

You're caught off guard and nod without thinking. Muffet adds both. You blow on the cup and take a sip to be polite. It is very sweet, almost sickening.

"I see the skeleton was good to you," Muffet comments, looking you up and down. Her many eyes linger on your chest.

"Yes, he didn't take my soul," you start a bit hotter than you mean to. The anger you felt earlier is starting to bubble over your edge of reason.

"Well of course he didn't! Ahuhuhuhu!" Muffet laughs, ignoring your tone. You're surprised by her words, and it must show on your face. She shakes her head, like a mother humoring a child. "I always knew you were special, but I never would have guessed you'd charm a mafia boss. He was so smitten with you. What a gold mine."

She picks up a stack of cash from her piles next to her desk. She fans it out with a smile. It takes multiple hands to display it all. Then, to your further surprise, she places half of it in front of you. "Your cut from last night."

You stare at the shear amount of money in front of you. Muffet continues her praise as you reach for the bills. "Now that your debt is repaid. I'd like to put you on salary."

"Salary?" You wish you could form a better question, but this entire conversation is going in a completely different direction than you were expecting.

"I always reward my stars, dearie. You'll still collect tickets for show, but I expect you'll get more second floor patrons soon. I'll pay you this amount every week no matter your ticket count. Dance with as many or as few patrons as you like."

You can't believe what you're hearing, but Muffet's pitch isn't done. "We'll need to make you more rare as well. Treasures are always more in demand when they're missed. I only want you to come Fridays and Sundays and two other days of your choice on any given week."

You take another sip from your tea. The wretched sweetness helps clear your mind. "I'm not going back in a booth."

"Oh no?" She eyeballs you with many raised eyebrows. "I would screen your patrons just as I did the skeleton, dearie."

You hesitate, and she laughs. But this time the sound is accompanied by a small hiss. "Ah, what lies has the greedy skeleton told you in order to keep you for himself?"

Lies?

You're not sure what to say. Your hands subconsciously fiddle with the large amount of money now in your possession.

Muffet gets out of her seat with the grace of a dancer and the coordination of someone who is always aware of her surroundings. She leans against the desk before you. Her hands fall gently on your shoulders and face. "Take my advice, dearie. Men will come and go, but you can always rely on yourself. You have natural talents, and I've kept you safe all this time, have I not?"

"You have," you whisper. Her face is so close to yours. Too close. Her hands cradle you like a jewel.

"I suggest you forget the skeleton, but I won't tell you what to do with your newly earned free time," Muffet winks at you as she pulls away and returns to her seat. "Do we have a deal?"

She pushes a paper towards you. It's a contract for the next year and includes everything Muffet already said. It's all very tempting. If you are honest with yourself, Sans paying your debt doesn't sit right with you. You want to pay him back, and this would be the best way to do that. But...  _they want a private dance with that soul of yours._

"Can I think about it?" You ask, and Muffet frowns for the first time. Then she catches herself, and resumes her smile.

"Of course, dearie. Just don't take too long."

"How long do I have?"

"Until your soul dims," Muffet answers, resuming her other tasks she was working on before you entered. "And you are no longer of value."

You want to ask her how a person's soul dims, but she's obviously done with you. You stuff the money in the dress you borrowed from Beatrix and leave to find your friend (and get your purse from your locker.)

"His kind are hollow, empty shells of monsters," Muffet warns as you reach the office door. "They crave flesh they don't have, and trail decay in their wake."

You don't turn around to face her. A bottle of pills shakes next to your head. You recognize the label.

"Take them. I don't need you pregnant when you come back to me."

Her confidence is confusing and infuriating. Why is she so sure you'll take her offer? This meeting has only left you with more questions. You take the bottle because you can still feel Sans' imprint within you. You don't need any magical pregnancies while you're trying to figure out your next step.

Sans...

What's happened to him since you've left?

You have a lot to think about.

You meet up with Beatrix in the locker room, but you don't say much. Your head is beginning to ache with the whirlwind of thoughts and experiences of the last 24 hours.

"Are you going to be okay?" Beatrix asks, concerned.

"I just need to go home and get some more rest," you nod and think about calling a cab, but decide fresh air might be nice. You don't feel like being cramped in a car right now. The music from the hall follows you outside. It is a beautiful night.

"Sunset! Where are you going?" Damien calls from the lobby door. You stop and look back at the monster. He jogs up to you with his usual reptilian grin.

You smile back. "It's an early night for me. I'm heading home. Enjoy your night."

You turn to leave, but he grabs your arm. You're whipped into the alleyway and slammed against the brick building. It cuts into your back.

You try to cry out in surprise, but his claw is already around your mouth. You bite him, and his armored scales cut your lips. To your disgust, his tongue flicks across the tiny wounds his grip is causing.

Then, he hisses in a tone you've never heard him use before, "Early night? Muffet has you on the lineup for tonight! You're going back to him, aren't you?"

He growls, bruising your body as he pushes you harder against the wall with each question. "You're not coming back, are you? One night with a skeleton and you forget your favorite patron? Months I've spent paying for dances! You tease!"

You never realized how much danger you'd been exposing yourself to. You never thought it was much more than dancing. You'd just wanted a fun job...

You continue to struggle, but he's too strong. Your muffled screams do nothing to stop him. His claws rip through the front of your dress. "I'm tired of waiting for you."

His claw cuts into the skin of your chest. You scream, lips bleeding against his hand. His legs pin yours. You try to punch him, but his arms block a clear shot to his face. "Mmm, I love when your kind fights. My delicious girl."

He pushes his claw inside your chest, but he's not ripping into your rib cage. Instead it just feels... wrong. It's like his hand is around every part of you. He's tearing through defenses you've never known existed as he forces his hand into the dimension of your soul.

"Ah, there you are," he sighs in near ecstasy. His whole body weight falls against yours and presses you further into the unforgiving brick as his hand fondles your soul. It's a vile, violating sensation that makes you cry with involuntary emotion. It hurts... everywhere. You can feel his rage and hunger like knives, tearing you apart.

You feel faint. The pain is overwhelming as he pulls away. The shadows of the alley yield to fiery orange rays coming from the center of your chest. It's like a warning beacon. You wonder if anyone can see it from the street? If anyone did, would they come help you?

"Shit, you're so bright," he snarls, nearly trembling in pleasure. His tongue wags in delight, but his eyes are dashing to either side in worry.

Your body goes limp, and he lets you slump to the ground. Your eyes can only focus on the glowing orb now in his hand. It looks like a small sun, radiating light rather than heat.  _My soul..._

Your consciousness is fading.

There's a gun shot.

Damien's body turns into a whirlwind of dust. You choke on it and try to spit away the particles in your mouth. He's disgusting.

Your soul stays floating in the air above you.

It takes all your strength, but you reach for it.

When your hand touches it, your energy returns. The pain ebbs away into a comforting hug.

... You're being hugged. A familiar boney hand joins yours around your soul, but his touch doesn't harm you like Damien's had. Instead you feel... a need, his intense desire. You can feel him fighting it as he helps you guide your soul back into your chest. His hand seals the hole there with magic. You feel your blood, wet and sticky, between his hand and yours. It's drenched your tattered clothes.

You're weak, but whole again, drained, and exhausted. Your eyelids get heavy. Your body numbs.

"you're safe," Sans voice seems so far away even though he's rocking you slowly back and forth. "you're gonna be fine."

He starts barking orders to another monster you can barely see. They look kind of like that kid you almost ran into when you were entering the hall. No arms...

You're so tired. You close your eyes.

Do you hear someone crying? Is it you?

You feel the world turn upside down with the rush of Sans' teleportation. You fall asleep in its darkness.

You dream of your soul dancing below the night sky. One of the stars falls and joins you. You dance in a spectacular light show of twirls and dips, but the star is dimming. It becomes a reflection of the night. Its dark glow encircles your soul in an intimate waltz. It's peaceful and sweet until you both disappear...

When you wake, the sun is greeting you through the open balcony doors of Sans' room. It's midday and the peaceful sound of the ocean waves almost lolls you back to sleep.

"Ah, you're finally awake," a female voice says. Her reptilian features give you a small jolt of adrenaline as you remember the events of last night. Despite the shock, your body barely turns in the sheets. The reptile shakes her head, "Careful."

Now you're registering her short stature, round hips, golden scales, and flowery dress. She's a reptile, but she's nothing like...  _him_. You don't want to say his name.

The monster adjusts the glasses on her face and gives you a small smile. "Welcome back to the living. You are one tough human to survive such a messy extraction."

You massage your chest and feel the jagged circular scar through the fabric of a nightgown someone's dressed you in.

The monster looks at you with big, sympathetic eyes, "I did the best I could to repair that rip. I confess, I'm not used to resealing them."

She chuckles, but her long row of sharp teeth send a shiver down your spine. How many souls has she  _un_ sealed?

"Who are you?" you try to ask as politely as you can, but your voice still squeaks up at the end. "Where's San- where's Red?"

"I'm Alphys. I guess you could say I'm the family doctor," she smiles, trying to appear friendly. She takes a step towards you and hovers her claw over your forehead. "May I?"

You consent, but mostly because you're still to weak to do much else. This vulnerability is frightening. She checks your temperature. Her scales are cool to the touch, but rough around the edges... like Damien's... You tense up with the memory of his claws cutting into your mouth as he tore inside your chest. Alphys notices and takes a step back when she removes her hand. You lick your lips, but any scars from that part of the encounter are gone. Your legs don't feel bruised anymore either.

"Fever's finally gone. Your body has normalized. Only took a little over a day too," Alphys reports with another toothy smile.

"A day..."

"You went into shock and suffered quite a dimming. I thought you were going to give up but..." her honest words trail off as she contemplates your prone body. Her eyes seem distant, like they're looking into a memory. "I've never seen Red care so much for anyone besides his brother."

She snaps back to the present. Her brown eyes lock onto yours and her smile becomes less pleasant. "Don't hurt him."

You want to laugh at the idea of you harming a mafia boss, but instead you cough. The pain in your chest saps your strength. You whisper again, "Where's Red?"

"The guys are on a job. Boss' orders or he wouldn't have left your side," Alphys sighs. "Now let's get some food in you before you fall asleep again. I won't have you half-starved by the time he gets back."

You are about to make a comment that you just slept for a day, but your eyes are drooping even as you think it. She spoon feeds you a delicious broth of a disturbing purple color. You fall asleep as she leaves your bedside. Her large yellow tail drags across the carpet on the floor. 

You dream again, but you forget it when you wake to the smell of burgers. It's dark. The sun has long since set. Your eyes adjust by focusing on the candle light coming from the balcony. There's a small table set for two. You recognize the smell from Grillby's bar. How long ago has it been since you teleported there? Time seems to have lost all meaning in this place. Has anyone talked to Beatrix or your cousin? You doubt it. You've missed shifts at the flower shop by now. You'll have to call her soon and let her know you're okay. But right now...

Sans is leaning on the balcony rail with his back to you. He's standing by a small telescope and looking up at the sky.

You're suddenly very conscious of the fact that you're dressed in clothes that aren't yours, you're lying in his bed, and...

... and he killed for you.

The moonlight is casting a soft blue glow over his skull. There's a tempered wildness about him. A tension clings to his exposed arms under his rolled cuffed sleeves. His shirt is untucked; his tie discarded.

You take in the sight of him, a gentle killer, lounging above the echoes of waves crashing against the rocky boundary of the cove outside.

You don't know what to say to this monster. He turned your world upside down. Then he saved you. He paid your debt. And he's asked for nothing in return. Why?

Your fingers trace the scar on your chest, but you don't take your eyes off him. Your lover... boss monster...  _mafia_.

How do you resolve the difference between the monster who courted you and the violence he's capable of? You've encountered multiple dangers since he's entered your life. Is it because he's opened your eyes to a harsh reality around you? Or were you safer in Muffet's care? The spider's words replay in your mind,  _They crave flesh they don't have, and trail decay in their wake._

Who has your best interests at heart?

... your heart.

It's beating so fast right now as you lay in comfort in this serene moment.

You feel so  _coveted_. And you like it? You're not sure. You spent most of your life taking care of yourself. When did you become a damsel needing saving? Have you really stepped into a fairy tale? Or is this a Grimm nightmare waiting for the story's turn?

This moment doesn't feel dangerous. It feels...  _nice_.

But how much can you really know about your savior?

You sit up, and he turns to look at you with that charming smile. His eye lights glow with joy. It makes your heart flutter in a quick step. He disappears.

Reappearing at your side on the bed, his hand finds yours over the covers. He's so gentle and comforting, "my light, you're okay."

Your gaze falls on a thin but permanent crack across his eye socket and up around his skull. You reach up and trace its groove. That wasn't there before. It makes him look like his father. "What happened to you?"

Sans smiles, leaning into your touch. "you've been in bed for over a day and you still worry about me? you're radiant."

"You didn't answer my question."

"just a scratch," Sans smirks, his eyes wonder over your blanket-covered body as if he had x-ray vision. "how do you feel?"

"I feel"  _fine_? Is that true? Your only sustained wound now is this dull ache in your chest, and... Your tongue curls in remembrance of Damien's dust in your mouth. And then it hits you: You could have died.

Why did that happen? How did you not realize Damien was after you? Why did you decide to walk? You had spray in your bag... You didn't use it. You couldn't. You were so scared. You... he...

Sans squeezes your hand and caresses your cheek with the other. His touch releases the tension forming around your clenched jaw.

You cry. Sans holds you. He listens to you try to express your shock, fear, and anger. At one point you start shaking involuntarily. Sans worries. Tentatively, and with your permission, he trails his fingers along the scarred ring on your chest. His calloused bone gently massages your skin. It's triggering. He stops.

"close your eyes and breathe deep. listen to the waves," he instructs. You do it. Letting your breath match the sound outside. It's peaceful. You want to find peace. Focusing on your breathing takes away some of tension in your body. "picture your soul."

You find it surprisingly easy to summon the image in your mind. The orange glow fills the darkness of your closed eyelids. "do you see it?"

"Yes," but it's flickering as you remember Damien's face above it. The burnt orange highlights the dark edges of his scales as his long tongue flickers across his lips.

Sans gently grabs your hand and places it on your chest. He guides you to trace the scar. His bones are warm and vibrating. You begin to see a red circle orbiting your soul.

"Wha-"

"shhh," Sans kisses your cheek. "focus on your light. what makes you happy?"

You think of your favorite things. He guides your thoughts through your favorite songs, food, places. All the while his hand continues to guide your fingers around your scar. Your chest feels warm. The red ring glows a deep crimson. You think of dancing. The smell of flowers. The first time you and Sans exchanged a glance. The way you floated above the ground. Your first kiss... leading to so many more kisses. You blush as you describe your thoughts out loud.

Sans' lips find yours. You yield to his tongue. His magic is electric in your mouth as the memories of your time together flood your mind. Your soul flares to a brilliant hue that engulfs the magic ring. You feel your hand sink into your chest. With Sans' guidance, you palm your own soul. His body rattles in pleasure around you, but your focus becomes the power surge within you. The memory of Damien fades as you override the disgusting scene with happier moments and hope.

Sans' fingers glide between the spaces of yours. His calloused tips press around your soul.

"Ahhhh," you moan, arching against his body as his desire overwhelms you. You feel his need, his care, and his lust for you to thrive  _around_  him.

His body is pressing against yours. Your night gown is pushed up to your bare waist. His pants unzipped. His magic breaches your inner lips, already wet.

He stops himself, but barely. His tip burns against your cupping entrance. "i'm sorry. i didn't realize how irresistible..."

"Yes," You are irresistible. You are powerful. You wrap your legs around his waist and push him inside you while kissing him with a bruising passion, fueled by his presence around your soul.

It's orgasmic from the moment he's inside. He cums almost immediately, but it doesn't matter. You're reeling from the euphoria of his magic within you while he fingers your soul. You cum again and again, and learn how to elicit the pleasure yourself.

It's fun. You're laughing in breathless glory as your orgasms become a button press away. You feel Sans' happiness through the connection. You also feel his wish to breed you, nest with you, and care for you.

"stay with me. stay here," he kisses along your ear. You moan as he accentuates his request with another orgasmic touch. You squeeze around his cock, still hard despite drenching you in cum already.

"This is hardly a fair time to ask me," you smile, gasping for breath.

"i know you want to stay."

"I don't want to nest."

"i know. i don't mind." He didn't. You can feel his hope that you'll change your mind one day.

This soul link is useful. When you regain more of your reasoning, you look at his face, so familiar now and yet... "How did you get that scar?"

He tries to pull away, but you won't let him. A flood of new emotions seep from your lover. Fear, rage, pain. So much pain... it weakens your grip, and Sans pulls his hand from your chest. Your hand quickly follows. The magic ring seals back in place, but the pain remains. You feel the cracks along his spine as if it were your own. And you know who did it.

"Your father..." You bring your hand to your mouth in shock. Tears form in your eyes.

"why would you-?" Sans growls, betrayed by your inquiry. He pulls away from you and zips up his pants. When he sits up, he looks away from you.

You pause in an awkward silence.

"I'm sorry. I don't know why I did that."

"you wanted an honest answer," he dismisses your denial. "you're still not sure you can trust me."

You hadn't realized you'd transferred all that to him through your soul. "I'm sorry."

"don't be," he finally turns to you. "i know you've been through a lot." He pauses. "stay with me."

"What about your father?" You can't shake the dark presence Sans transferred to you. Sans pulls you into a hug. You rub your cheek against his rumpled shirt and feel his solid ribs through it.

"i'm not going to keep this life forever. but you're safe. he won't hurt you."

His words are sincere, but you already miss the surety of the connection you just had. He continues, "i'll keep you safe from all of them."

His arms tighten around you. "if you're here, no one will touch you."

"So I should stay in this beautiful cage?" You say it with a smile; but your eyes pointedly look at the room. "I'm not a pet."

You know that is a common practice among monsters of his class.

Sans head bumps against yours. "not a pet. but here you'll be safe. you'll have access to our driver. they'll take you where ever you want to go in the city."

"While also keeping an eye on me?" you ask then remember another question that's been on the edge of your mind. "How did you know I was in trouble?"

"grillby sent a tag when you left his bar. kid does a good job, but he's not as useful in a fight, especially against a noble."

Sans says it so casually, but this is news to you. A noble? You had no idea Damien had been that high class. You're realizing how little you really know about monster society. You've only been a puppet or, rather, a fly in a spider's web.

"I want to know more about monsters and your world," you say, looking up into Sans' eye lights. His hands squeeze your sides and pull you closer.

He nods, "my world is yours." He leans in to kiss you. His bony lips are gentle. He tongue lightly licks around your mouth. "you are my world. let me protect you."

"Teach me to defend myself?" you ask, surprised at yourself. You're actually negotiating your terms for you to live here.

The truth is, you don't want to go home to an empty apartment. You've made enough to get out of your lease. Sure, you have family around, but no one has the space to take in another body... and, in truth, you're not interested in staying there either. Beatrix would take you in, but her nights get wild...

"i'll teach you whatever you want," Sans kisses you again. You don't think he can hug you any harder. You almost can't tell where your body ends and his begins. "and you'll stay?"

"I'll stay," you laugh as his smile imprints itself across your mouth. He pushes you down on the bed with an enthusiastic growl. You feel his magic building between your legs. "Again?"

"and again," he groans against your skin.

You moan into the night. Your dinner neglected under the stars, bearing witness to your new life as the lover of a mobster.


	5. Shaded

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Warning:** Gore level high for those unused to gruesome images (Medium to Mild level for horror fans)

The Don comes to the house the morning after you awake from your attack. It is a formal affair. Sans helps you dress with clothes he'd had Alphys buy for you. They are based on measurements she took while you were sleeping. You're not sure how you feel about that, but that is a discussion for another day.

You meet the Don in the great room. Edge stands next to his father while Sans stands at your side. Besides Muffet, you have never felt so small in the presence of another monster. He towers over you, and under his shadow, your body feels numb with an otherworldly coldness. It's devoid of substance, like a nothingness threatening to swallow you whole.

He bends down ever so slightly and cups your face with a white gloved hand. You flinch but don't break eye contact.

He chuckles, " **You** ** _are_** **quite the prize. So courageous... Delectable.** "

Before you can respond, his eye lights disappear into two lifeless black holes. His sunken sockets surface within your mind the image of death and his gleaming sickle drenched in blood. His hand trails down from your chin to your neck in a gentle caress, until his fingers close around your throat.

You choke as black undulating tendrils of shadow curve around the periphery of your vision. You hear Sans yell, and Edge hold him back.

Your focus dims until the Don's sneering grin is all you can see. " **And that's all you are. A treasure soon to be tarnished and discarded. Never look me in the eye again, human**."

He tosses you backwards, and you stumble, trying to regain your balance while gasping for air. Sans catches you before you fall on the ledge of the fireplace, unlit and cold. Dazed, you focus on the ornate rug below you while your heart threatens to pump right out of your chest. You're shaking. His words had a sharpness that cut into your soul.  _Discarded_...

Sans' hand is rubbing your back in spirals that match the pattern of the rug. No, maybe that isn't true. Maybe your mind is only registering swirls. Your head hurts. It doesn't help that Sans starts yelling, "you bastard! i'll- !"

"How's your eye?" the Don cuts through Sans' threat with a casual nonchalance that leaves the room silent.

Sans' hand stops massaging your back and tenses up into a fist. You can feel his magic building, but you didn't want him to get hurt again because of you. You grab his arm and say, "Please, no."

You want to say more and ask him if you both can just leave. But it hurts to speak. Your eyes drift to the long, thin crack above his eye that Sans tries to hide with his fedora. He's looking down at your neck, already showing signs of bruising, and starting to say, "but-"

" **You should listen to your pet. She's a quick learner.** "

"she's not a pet!" Sans steps in front of you, but you keep a hold of his arm. Willing him to understand that the tight squeeze you give to his upper arm bone means you support him but don't want to fight.

" **I will not have you weaken our family image with a spider's whore** ," the Don replies. You bite your lip to stop yourself from reacting. The Don can kill you both right here. You felt it when he touched you and last night when you'd pried into Sans' soul... He's beyond a monster, a void of darkness. He's a killer.

You tell yourself words aren't worth dying for. You focus on Sans' tense back, and keep your grip steady on his arm. He's shaking with rage. but he doesn't shrug you off to fight. He let's your hand stay, holding him back. It's a silent bond: your desire to see him safe and his acknowledgement of your wish. Like a stationary dance, you feel like a partner... to a mobster.

" **Pathetic**." You can hear the sneer in the Don's voice, but you don't escalate things by looking up at him. " **This is why I have come bearing a gift.** "

The Don snaps his fingers and, to your surprise, a human hurries into the room. He is impeccably dressed and at the Don's side in moments. As a dancer, you've been trained to notice the slight limp in his left leg. But if he's in pain, his face isn't showing it. So your focus falls to the object in his hands. It is a black lacquered box with a golden skull crafted around the latch.

" **Good boy** ," the Don says, grabbing the gift, and then slapping the man so hard in the face that he falls to the ground. He doesn't dodge or cry out in pain. You feel the Don's eyes on you, but you don't take the bait. You are sure you'd get the same treatment if you looked at him right now. Sans places his hand over yours on his arm. He squeezes your fingers under his as you stare at this human lying on the ground.

"Thank you, Master," is all the pet says, though his voice is muffled by the rug. He picks himself up, straightens his suit, and wipes the blood welling from his lip with a handkerchief. He doesn't look at you. He doesn't look at anyone. You wonder if he ever looks at himself. Is this a voluntary arrangement or an instance of indentured servitude? "Do you need anything else, Master?"

" **Not at the moment. You may return to the trunk.** " Of his car? This is ridiculous!

"You're disgusting," you cringe at the pain in your throat as you yell, but your emotions have gotten the better of you. Now Sans holds you back as you glare into the face of the Don.

" **So bright... and yet so stupid** ," the Don shakes his head.

"He's a human being!" You gesture towards the man in solidarity, but he doesn't acknowledge you. Instead he just turns around and starts towards the door as the Don responds, " **You're**   **apes evolved into weak bipeds with not much else to show for it."**

"Able to keep you in a cave for a thousand years!" your rage fuels your mouth before you can stop yourself. The man hurries out of the room, and nearly trips on his limp in the rush.

"stars-" Sans chokes.

"HOW DARE YOU!" Edge yells, speaking up for the first time since this meeting began.

The Don raises a hand to stop his younger son from jumping to his defense while Sans' grabs your waist and pulls you closer to him.

The Don arches one curious brow bone and with a tight jaw asks, " **You'll still stand beside her? After what she just said to me?"**

"never been more attracted to a woman than I am right now," Sans grins with a wink in your direction, but you feel the tension in his bones. His body rattles with it as he looks back at his father.

" **Your misguided libido is tiresome, and your taste in mammals is lamentable** ," the Don tosses the lacquered box at your feet with a terse jerk of his arm. He must have also unlatched it, because it opens on impact with the floor. Inside is a finely engraved black, leather collar sitting on a red silk pillow. The inscription burned into the leather is written in runes, that are shaped like sharpened bones. " **You will wear this everyday for the rest of your short lifespan, Pet. And if I ever see you without it, I will kill you myself**."

He doesn't wait for a response. He walks to the doorway with Edge following close behind. Then he stops under the door frame, and adds, " **You will join for a walk tonight.** "

Sans' eye sockets dim to black. You recognize that look.  _Thorn_. You'd chosen the safe word because of how piercing his hollow gaze can be. His submissive tone as he answers his father is no less unnerving. "sure thing, boss."

Satisfied, the Don leaves. Sans sighs in relief and drops his head into your chest. His hat crumples between his skull and your rib cage while his eyes focus on your soul. He stays like that, unmoving and silent. Unsure of what you should do, you pat his back and awkwardly try not to step on the box, now between your feet on the floor.

When he regains his composure, you feel his tongue licking down your cleavage. He looks up at your face with eye lights back in place. You try to ask him about what the "walk" is all about, but he teleports you both back to his bed while you're mid sentence.

"shh don't talk yet," he lightly kisses your bruised neck. Healing mint candies, imbued with magic, float from the bowl of the bedside stand. They're leftover from your recovery, and soothe your throat instantly.

"mmm, my light," Sans' skull nuzzles your chest as he tears away the new dress and undergarments you're wearing.

"Are we going to talk - ah...mmm."

His hands squeeze every curve in your body. "you shone so bright."

His fingers find your clit and start circling. You can't help but moan and loose yourself in his lust as he licks your chest along the scars above your soul. "you're the sexiest woman i've ever met."

You enjoy this reprieve from the tense meeting before but... "but the Don..."

Sans growls, "not now. talk later."

His body blinks out of existence, but this time without his clothes. You stare at the empty suit as it crumples, unsupported, and falls on top of you. Then Sans reappears fully naked.

You glance from the shreds of dress fabric around you to the wrinkled, but intact, suit between you. "Couldn't you have done that for both of us?"

"wouldn't have been as much fun," he smirks, tossing his clothes aside while pushing his body against yours. His cock is already fully erect and grinding along your clit as he buries his face in your chest again.

You know you need to talk about his father and the collar now lying on the floor beside its box. But there is also something extremely appealing about fucking when the Don's car is probably still making its way down the long drive to the main road.

You lift Sans face from your breast, and he pulls himself up to kiss you. Tongue dancing with yours, he angles himself inside you, and you both forget the world for a while.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Sans didn't want to have a conversation about the collar, yet. He set it in the top drawer of the bed stand and distracted you with a shower while he teleported to Grillby's to get food.   
He bought enough for his brother and visited him next.

Edge isn't difficult to find when he's angry. He always works out his rage on dummies in the basement gym. But the minute Sans appears in the room, he becomes the new target. Leaving the take out bag on the stairs, Sans blocks his brother's first attack.

"SHE INSULTED OUR RACE!" Edge yells, following fists with kicks in a barrage of attacks that makes Sans rip a few seams in this suit in order to avoid them.

"she gave what she got," Sans blocks and dodges with no intention of going on the offensive. His brother is right to be angry. What you said was heinous, but so was what his father did.

"SHE NEEDS TO APOLOGIZE."

"she will, to you," Sans promises, sure you won't object to it. You're not a malicious person. You won't keep a grudge against his brother. Your soul is too good for that. That's why your words didn't bother him. The Don can bring people to say the worst things. He made Edge come to the meeting because he wants him to disapprove of you. It would be an easy way to make you disappear. But now that his head is clear, Sans can counter. Because there are some things even the Don can't break, and his bond with his brother is one of them, "she makes me happy, paps."

"FATHER SAYS HAPPINESS IS A WEAKNESS," Edge almost lands a roundhouse kick across Sans' skull. To avoid it, Sans blinks next to Edge's shoulder.

"he doesn't have feeling in any of his bones. how would he know?"

Edge jabs an elbow back to impact Sans' ribs, but he's already teleported away. "BONES DO NOT HAVE NERVE ENDINGS."

"but we feel all the same," Sans taps the sensitive atlas bone where Edge's spinal cord meets his skull. That would have been a kill shot.

Edge growls and spins around. Sans dodges again. "WHY AREN'T YOU FIGHTING BACK?"

"i don't want to fight."

"BECAUSE YOU ARE HAPPY," Edge huffs in an exasperated sigh. He attacks again, but this time with less force.

Sans smiles, "exactly, bro. what else is worth fighting for?"

"FAMILY," Edge replies, but his voice is losing it's volume as their sparring falls into a training pattern rather than a fight.

"she might become family," Sans counters, and Edge's hands lower. The truth of Sans' words disarms him, and he drops his offensive stance completely. "You like her that much?"

"yeah, bro."

"So she'll become a target," Papyrus kicks a dummy nearby as he transitions to his post workout stretching routine. Sans always respected his brother's discipline to his craft. It kept him focused and got him through the dark times. It also keeps his mind sharp. "That's dangerous for you, too, brother."

"she wants to learn how to fight. she's tough," Sans is glad this conversation has changed tone, and he leans on the homemade obstacle course in the room in relief.

His brother finishes his cool down, but looks skeptical from Sans' answer. "She was almost killed by a lizard."

"so she needs training, and who better than the great razor edge?"

"I am Great," Papyrus nods with a momentary pose. Sans can't help but smile as he pictures a cape billowing in unseen wind behind his brother. Even if he is one of the deadliest hitmen in the underground, Edge is still Sans' little brother. He loves this glimpse, even fleeting, of the little monster with big dreams of being a super hero. Sans never regretted sneaking some of Alphys' comics into Edge's room when he was young. He was only sorry he couldn't keep their father's toxicity away from him.

"no one better to train her than you. i want her to be safe. she means a lot to me."

Edges nods in understanding and acceptance as he begins to clean up the room. "Only if she apologizes."

"she will."

"And she wears the collar," Edge crosses his arms over his bare rib cage. Even in only gym trunks, his brother is an intimidating sight. It makes Sans proud. And even though Edge is ready for Sans to argue, he only nods in agreement. You'll be safer in monster territory with the collar on.

"she will. i can convince her," Sans grins, sounding more confident than he is about getting you to wear it. "now have some food."

"Red! We have plenty of food in the refrigerator!"

"but none of it tastes like this."

"That's because you have to cook it!"

"too much work."

Edge shakes his head, but accepts Sans' offering of good will. "I will start training your human tomorrow!"

"thanks bro," Sans says, standing on a few stairs to clap Edge on the shoulder in appreciation.

"Red," Edge calls before Sans can teleport.

"yea?"

"Are you going to tell her about what you're doing tonight?"

"no reason to upset her with things that can't be controlled," Sans shrugs, but doesn't face his brother. "she doesn't need to learn the business."

"I do not believe you have chosen a mate with a low intelligence statistic."

Edge has a point. You aren't dumb, but he's hoping you'll be merciful.

Sans teleports to his room to find you lounging on a chair under the sun with a book in hand. Your soul shines bright when you're relaxed. You're beautiful. And that's why you can never know the details of what he does. He doesn't want to be the reason your soul dims.

If he can just keep you shining, there's hope his future will be the same.

It's why he'll distract you with food, a tour of the house, and a boat ride along the private coast. He'll make love to you surrounded by open water. He'll talk to you about the apology you need to make to his brother so he'll train you in self defense. He'll even bring up the collar when you get back to his room.

"Absolutely not," you shake your head.

"i will never treat you as a pet."

"But other monsters will! I am not going to be treated as a servant!"

By the stars you are so beautiful even when you're arguing with him. That fierceness in your soul is intoxicatingly bright.

"my light, these runes claim you as part of the family. no one would dare order a pet of a boss monster to do anything. and-" he gingerly caresses the scar on your chest. "and this wouldn't happen..."

You hesitate, and Sans is sure he's won this round. He decides to go in for the kiss. The way you melt under his touch is so perfect. You're his soul mate. He's been sure of it since he cradled your soul in his palm. You were made for him. He just needed more time for you to submit to it. Then your soul will be his forever. He growls in your ear, because he loves the way your body shivers under his tone, "you wore the spider's mark. why won't you wear mine?"

"I-" you stop yourself from finishing your sentence. He caresses your sides, but then the phone rings... Dammit.

"i have to go," Sans announces, getting off the bed and putting back on the rest of his clothes. With you in the room, it feels like putting on a costume, another persona that he no longer wants to know. But he has no choice... for now.

"Now? It's nearly midnight! Oh," you remember his commitment. "What is this walk, anyway?"

"hard to say, so i'd rather not try," he answers, putting on his fedora, the final piece of his mask. "i don't want to worry you. i'll be fine. the boss just wants to talk privately."

"And he needs to do that in the middle of the night? What's really going on?"

He kisses you to stop the questions and leaves with the sweet taste of your soul's glow on his bony lips. "i have to go."

He teleports away on the gamble that leaving the way he does won't enrage you enough to leave. He'd like you to be there when he returns. He'll need you and your light.

He's tired of doing this job without someone glowing at the end of the tunnel. You're his hope.

Sans appears in the backroom of Grillby's. It was the bartender who had called. He's an alarm clock who leaves a message about Sans' tab as a pretense. The backroom is empty, of course. The Don always arrives earlier, orders a drink, and clears this room with his presence. In his private dining, he would talk to his old friend, Grillby, and...

Sans picks up the mustard bottle still sitting on the only dressed up table in the room. The spot where his boss must have sat still feels degrees cooler. Ignoring the chill, he squirts a shot of the bottle's vinegary goodness into his mouth. Then he grabs the message taped to the bottom.

**FAIRGROUNDS - BIG TENT**

Sans has to read the message twice. This isn't a normal location. Usually it's directions to an alley, dock, or park location where he'll find the body waiting for him. Did the Don really play a game of chase into a circus? What about any carnies that live on site?

Sans closes his eyes and takes another shot of mustard. Bracing himself for the worst, he teleports to the back field within the grounds. Trailers and personal tents are camped out a few feet away. The fair itself is dark and haunting with its unlit rides and other temporary structures. He focuses on the outline of the big tent blocking out a whole section of city lights on the horizon.

With his goal in sight, Sans avoids the few campfires of carnies blissfully unaware of the danger. He almost gets caught by one man taking a piss in the bushes. Luckily for him, Sans teleports out of view before he turns around.

There doesn't need to be any more casualties tonight. But the Don picked this place to cause more trouble for Sans. He knows Sans can't teleport directly into a structure he's never been inside. And if any humans or monsters see him while he makes his way to the tent, Sans will be forced to kill them or risk involvement from either the human government or monster royalty. It's better for his family if only a controlled number of beings know of the Don's bouts of bloodlust. What tenuous peace he's blessed with between these episodes hinders on how well he covers up the night's carnage. So he proceeds slowly. Dragging out the anticipation of what horror show awaits him, he creeps his way into the looming darkness of the tent ahead.

He can smell the Don's work before he can see it. Fresh meat wafts on the faint wind whistling between attractions. The tang of blood is not unsavory, but the circumstances are. Sans sneers at the mutilated body of a security guard strewn along the entrance of the tent like a wreathed decoration. His intestines are used to tie back the canvas flaps that cover the entry way. His head is speared onto one of the stakes. His hands are twisted above, directing Sans inside.

What a maniac. His boss always expresses his level of fury with a pathological display of "art."

The scene invokes a darkness within Sans' soul. Sans spits on the ground in disgust and finds the pants pocket of the man's dismembered leg. He collects his wallet. When he's done cleaning up the Don's mess, he can take it to the police commissioner. She'll know it means another body will never be found, but at least the family can know he's gone. It's not much, but there's not much else he can offer her. Sans doesn't envy her job, but at least she cooperates.

This truce holds while they look for a way to recreate the barrier. It's the only magic strong enough to hold the Don captive. But finding a human who can remember the old ways has been a dead end.

Sans walks into the tent and spots the Don sitting in the bleachers. A broken, dim soul is flickering in his hand. He's nibbling on it while he sits amidst another mess of limbs, clothing, and blood splashed across the seats. Based on the debris, this victim was not a security guard. He wonders if there's any ID left to find.

The Don doesn't look at Sans when he enters. Instead, his gleefully dark eye lights are trained upwards. His crooked smile tells Sans he doesn't want to know what is above him, but he looks nonetheless.

The orange soul caged and sitting on the platform of the high wire act is the first thing that catches Sans' eye. The second is the woman crying without sound on the opposite platform.

" **Mute, isn't that marvelous? If I'd had to pull out her tongue she would have bled to death before you got here. Instead she's been up there for twenty minutes. Humorous how weak this species is** ," the Don says, taking a sizable bite of the soul in his hand. Now that Sans walks closer, he can make out the dim orange glow in that soul as well. He chose his victims tonight based on your soul color. " **It's like a silent film.** "

"your taste in cinema sucks," Sans does his best to keep his voice neutral, but it's hard under this sight. The tortured woman contemplates the feat of walking across a wire with no net below. Humans don't know much about their souls, but they understand pain. Being as far away as she is from hers must be agonizing, but only death awaits her if she attempts to get any closer.

" **Aw, I thought you would enjoy this** ," the Don says in faux disappointment while wastefully tossing the fragment of uneaten soul to the side. It shatters with a spark against the bleachers and bursts into dust. " **You have an affinity for the dramatic these days. Though I didn't think you were one for romantic tragedies.** "

Sans remains silent instead of taking the bait. He doesn't want this night to be any longer than it has already become. But then he makes the mistake of connecting eyes with the woman. She starts signing frantically. He assumes she's asking for help. She almost falls off her platform in hope. Her eyes wildly travel over the grotesque splatter of human parts along the seating and then fall back to him. No doubt the Don made her watch from that perch as he tore the other human apart.

It rattles his bones. She's just a civilian. She's done nothing to them.

And it's his fault that she's going through this.

" **Go on, save her, oh great hero of humans** ," the Don says, continuing this scripted game he's created, " **Bring her down here, but keep her soul in the cage**."

Sans hesitates. He can't figure out the Don's next move. It unsettles him.

" **NOW!** " The Don's voice booms within the haunted emptiness of this arena. It's vibrant colors contrast against the insanity of this entire situation.

An ache pounds in his skull. It's most tender along the crack from the Don's last attack. He closes his eyes for a moment to try and calm his nerves, but his father just yells again.

This night needs to end.

Sans teleports to the cage, to the woman, and then back to the ground. The human drops to the dirt in dizziness and relief. She pukes, but then dashes towards the door despite her soul still being held captive. Sans is impressed with her strength of will, but sighs as the shadows condense around her and pull her back.

She doesn't deserve to die.

The Don laughs, almost drunk from the energy of the two souls he's already consumed. " **I can see why you like the courageous ones. So spunky and full of energy.** "

His shadows force her to her knees in front of Sans, still holding the cage. It swings in her direction with her soul's pull to return to its owner. Her tear-filled eyes plead with him. He tries not to look, but there's no where else to focus.

" **Now eat her soul.** " The Don orders, lounging back in his seat.

The woman cries harder, fighting against her restraints in a sad exercise in futility. Sans growls,"i'm not a part of this."

" **Oh, son, you have always been a part of this,** " the Don answers with an almost sympathetic sigh that's lost under a sharp, " **I have grown tired of your self righteousness. You are a monster. It is time you remembered that."**

The shadows thicken around the woman, or, perhaps it is consuming his vision? Sans shakes his head to fight the Don, trying to get into his skull. "i won't."

" **You will, or we'll continue this in your home. And this time, I will rip the soul from your insolent,** ** _precious_** **pet and force it down your throat."**

Sans knows the Don's threat is real, but it doesn't make his choice any easier. He'd survived previous outings like these with the consolation that he was just the janitor. But this...

This woman is younger than you. He wonders what she was doing before the Don snatched her from the streets. Or did he take her from her home? Did she have a family?

" **Choose: this girl or yours?** "

The Don isn't going to let this human live no matter his choice. Better one more death than two. Better her than you.

She struggles against the shadow tendrils holding her in place as Sans opens the cage to her soul. It dims in his claw, but sends tremors of power across his bones. He tries to ignore the excitement arousing within him. A primal hunger growls between his ribs and Sans hates himself for it.

What would you say if you could see him right now: salivating over the soul of a human? Would you understand it as a natural reaction to a exquisite treat being placed in front of him? Or would that fact just disgust you more?

 _No, please_ , her cries take form in his mind as he hesitates. She tries to transfer more as her life force sits in his palm, but all Sans can see is you.

This can't happen to you.

"i'm sorry," he takes her whole soul in one bite to cease her suffering. The energy transfer drops him to a knee as her limp body falls to the ground. Her life flows into him. A thousand memories rush his brain and then shatter under his jaw as he consumes her power. The magic within her soul strengthens his own. It's intensely invigorating and... delicious.

He wishes that last part wasn't true, but... ah, by the stars and sky! Every inch of him is vibrating in pleasure while his soul absorbs hers in a violent dance that eventually leaves him with the ache of loss. Like coming off a high, his own soul dims at the emptiness left where her soul once shone.

This existence of feeding off souls is barbaric. It elongates his life for decades longer than he deserves to live. Delaying his inevitable fall into eternal damnation, this soul will eventually be avenged by the darkness that seeps into his bones with every kill.

... until he turns into his father.

Sans clenches his fists and tenses every bone in his body, now electric with power. He wants to attack the grinning maniac, watching him with glee from his seat in the stands. But this soul's power isn't enough. He'd have to consume hundreds of souls to defeat the boss, and he couldn't do that...

Unless... yes he could if... if they  _deserved_  it...

Why hadn't he thought of this before?

His dark thoughts are interrupted by the Don's slow clap and a dull, " **Bravo**."

"i hate you."

" **Do you even have room to hate anyone else beyond yourself?** "

When Sans doesn't answer, the Don kicks aside the corpse, no longer of use, and stands above his son. Shadow limbs force Sans to look up into the Don's smirking face. " **You will keep your pet in line, and you will never disobey my orders again. Have I made myself clear?** "

Sans tightens his jaw and nods. The shadows around him condense into thousands of needles, ready to pierce through his bones because of his silence. Sans resists the futile instinct to fight back and grimaces, "i understand... father."

_i will become stronger..._

_... and then i will kill you._

The shadows release him and return to the Don. " **Good, now clean up this place. Fleshy creatures leave such a mess.** " He looks down at the girl's body, her bowels emptied in her death. " **Disgusting. I don't understand what you see in them.** "

Then he disappears, leaving Sans alone with Death.

**Author's Note:**

> This was created for plsdontkinkshame (Tumblr), also known as Asimplesmutpeddler (Twitter), who is an amazing artist! I highly recommend following her if you're not already doing so.
> 
> Oh, and you can follow me too for status updates and random smut I’m @DarkCrysDemon on Twitter and darkcrystaldemon on Tumblr.


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